


Paradiddle

by bazaar



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, F/F, there's some Bopal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazaar/pseuds/bazaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, marching band is a sport. A sport made up entirely of talented, intelligent, hardworking dorks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roll

**Author's Note:**

> Four years of marching band gives a person a lot of material for a stupid AU like this one.
> 
> I don't own _The Legend of Korra_. I think it's pretty obvious.

To the average onlooker, marching band looks like an elaborate concoction of hell and those crazy (stupid) enough to endure it. 

Korra tugs on her harness where it digs deep into her shoulder, and the worn snare wobbles precariously against her hips. She squints up at the podium, praying she won't see those white gloves held high.

"If she tells us to reset again swear I am going to shove these sticks so far up her—"

"Reset!"

"Oh my god. Oh my _fucking_ god." She's three and a half seconds from quitting. No. No, she's quitting _right now_. 

They've been running the same set for hours _,_ and the hot, late August sun roasts their skin and Korra's ninety-eight percent sure that their drum major—The Dictator, Miss Bitchtastic, _Kuvira_ —a fellow senior with a superiority complex that runs from the tips of her _fierce_ eyebrows to the bottoms of her steel-toed JROTC-issued boots, is out to get the snare line. Specifically Korra, because she has managed to play her feature enough times to form the blisters between the joint of her thumb and forefinger into painful calluses she won't soon be scraping off. 

"You know, it's funny. You'd think we'd get a water break, huh?" Bolin says from his dot behind her, and she doesn't have to turn around to hear the unmistakable sound of him emptying the massive water key of his contra. "Hey Korra, you want some condensation?"

"That is _spit,_ Bolin. I don't care how many times you tell me otherwise."

"Condens _aaation,_ " he sings, and blows out a few more disgusting gallons of "condensation" for good measure. "Look it up, and bow down to the almighty brass!"

He can't see her face, but she rolls her eyes for satisfaction's sake before Kuvira's irritating gloved hands are up again and they're running Set Twenty-Two, the only set they'll ever fucking play in the show, apparently.

It's five or six more runs before Korra really starts to feel the effects of The Dictator's staunch distaste for water. 

Heat exhaustion is a very real, very tangible thing that rookies and woodwinds fall prey to. She feels it, strong and heavy and pressing hard against her skull, and she can't really see straight, but it's some sort of sin for the center snare to sit out, so she blinks the sweat out of her eyes for the eight hundredth time and cracks her wrists like she isn't going to develop early-onset arthritis. 

She's seeing multicolored spots in the darkening sky and while it might well be the start of an alien abduction, it might also be that she's entering the final agonizing seconds of life. Only the sharp crack of her sticks on the drum head lets her know that she is decidedly not dead yet, and it's proving to be a problem up until a beautiful, shining head appears downfield, shuffling toward the sideline.

God bless Tenzin. God bless his bald, tattooed head and his uncanny ability to rush out on to the field from his office exactly two hours after half the band is either sitting out or, like Korra, delirious from dehydration and heat exhaustion.

He calls the band to the sidelines, looking flustered, and Korra takes one step into the migrating mass of overheated band kids before the entire world tilts on its axis and she accepts her death. Then, there's a hand on her back, and ew, she's sweaty and gross and who the fuck wants to touch her back, whoever it is should probably just let her crumple into a heap on the field and shrivel away—

"You're not collapsing before I do."

Everything is blurry, but the voice is clear and familiar. Korra groans, "Leave me to die."

The hand on her back moves up towards her neck and then there's a sticky, sunburnt arm draped over her harness, around her shoulders, directing her off of the field. "No can do. You still owe me for the last time I dragged you off the field."

"You could have left me _then,_ " she grumbles. "Why won't you let me die, Asami?"

"Because," she begins, and Korra sees her prod a few flutes out of their way with her sabre out of the corner of her eye. They move to the front of the pack, where the officers are _supposed_ to be, but she'd quite honestly rather be lying on the field. "We're all well aware that you're the only one that can pull off that solo. I'd rather not have Ryu as our center snare, thanks very much."

Korra grimaces at the thought. "Point taken."

"Band!" Tenzin calls, now standing on the tower beside Kuvira. Korra almost laughs at how out of place he looks, his orange ( _orange?_ ) polo tucked precariously into his oversized khakis while Kuvira stands at attention, hands behind her back, looking like she could eat a child if the need arose. There's no doubt in Korra's mind—she's eaten children before. "There are several announcements I would like to make before we end rehearsal for today."

It's just about that time. Korra completely zones out and chugs half her weight in lukewarm water. 

Tenzin spends what seems like a year or maybe five rambling on about how the uniforms need to be arranged correctly for their upcoming competition and how people need to stop stepping over the guard equipment (at this Asami jabs Korra in the side sharply, but it was only _once,_ fuck) and blah blah blah, it's been four years already, Korra's heard every one of Tenzin's overused announcements about fifty times too many.

While Korra is decidedly not listening and instead fixing the thrice-broken handle of her water jug, Asami leans over, right into her personal space, places a hand on Korra's bicep and mutters a soft, "Burgers after this?" 

She's just as sweaty and disgusting as the rest of the band, and while she may be wearing fingerless gloves, Korra's certain the rest of her hands are just as blistery, and fuck if guard gloves don't smell like something _died_ after a long practice—but in four years Korra's never really been able to stem the little flutter her heart does when Asami touches her. Even if she's really gross and mentioning burgers.

It's easy to cover a blush when the sun makes sure that every band member's face looks like an oversized tomato. 

"Sure," she says, takes a swig of water. "We'll get the others if Tenzin ever decides he's done."

Tenzin, much to her surprise, shuts up shortly after and hastily dismisses the band with more than a few angry glares at the young trumpet player leaning over his daughter's marimba. Jinora and Kai have inadvertently won the band's unofficial Cutest Couple Award, even if they aren't exactly dating. Seeing as, well, her father is the _band director._ Kai's an incredible player, though, knows his stuff, and the two of them are officially the only rookies Korra cares to talk to.

There's a tug on her arm. Asami's there, shouldering her weapons bag and smiling so her eyes crinkle at the edges and looking entirely too cute with the caliber of sunburn she's sporting across her nose and cheeks. She motions to their side with her free shoulder. "Let's go grab the others before you have a heatstroke."

Korra blinks the sweat from her eyes a few times and Asami's gone. She goes to pack her things away, watches from afar as Asami wrangles the rest of their little crew. 

She tries to pry a swing flag out of Opal's hand when Bolin says something apparently stupid enough to warrant the hard metal against his head. Opal has an entire arsenal of silks, and while she's not _usually_ the most violent person, Bolin's skull knows each and every flag personally. Mako hasn't involved himself in the situation, and instead sits on the grass, polishing his mellophone like he does after each and every use. Korra really doesn't get the need. Drums don't need constant cleaning. Drums are easy.

She jogs over and Bolin puts his head in the bell of his tuba, balances it on his shoulders, and Opal and Mako roll their eyes but Opal laughs, and Asami follows suit, and they're young and stupid and Korra can't remember ever being happier.

 

* * *

 

They scrap the burger idea for dinner waffles. Korra _loves_ dinner waffles.

The five of them jam themselves into a booth in the corner, and Mako thinks better of sitting next to his brother and his brother's girlfriend and pulls a chair up beside the table. 

Their waitress, a little old lady with a southern accent and the sweetest old lady smile ever, leans over the plywood divider between the open kitchen and their table with her notepad, and they end up ordering a really dumb assortment of food.

Who in the hell wants three and a half eggs and an omelet without eggs? What is an omelet without eggs? Mako might be a little more conservative with his decision of bacon and eggs, but he wants marmalade and no toast, ( _what? where is he putting the marmalade?_ ) and Opal goes for the egg white sandwich because god knows why—they have _waffles_ for fuck's sake, why is everyone ordering _eggs_? 

Asami decides on blueberry waffles thank _god_ , and Korra goes for the double chocolate chip with a side of hash browns. Their bare legs touch under the table when Korra leans over the table to hand the waitress their menus, and she tries not to retract like she's on fire. She also decides then and there that she'll be wearing pants to every future band rehearsal. She scoots away under the unspoken pretext of giving Asami more space on the bench seat, but Asami doesn't seem to quite get the message, because she leans against the corner and throws her legs right over Korra's lap so her feet are dangling over the edge.

"Can you massage my calves, _please_?" Asami groans, tossing her head back and exposing her very long and very sunburnt neck. "You owe me."

"I told you to leave me on the field," she says matter-of-factly, trying to maintain some kind of loose grip on her now scrambled thoughts as Asami adjusts her legs on Korra's lap.

Asami gives her the patented Sato Pouty Face, and there's really no resisting. 

It's not that they haven't had a physical friendship. Not, of course, in the sense that Korra is only beginning to realize she'd really _really_ enjoy now. It's always been more like hugs and little friendly touches. She's always felt this kind of overwhelming affection for the other girl, and once in their freshman year, an older member had referred to them as "as close as sisters." Korra had just always felt some level of comfort sticking with the title.

Halfway into their junior year, though, they'd gone to a party and Asami had gotten _plastered_ and yeah, it was hilarious, but Korra hadn't expected the impromptu game of Truth or Dare, nor had she really been able to brace herself for a friend's drunken dare to Asami, and then Asami's mouth on hers. 

Even sitting in the booth of a seedy breakfast place almost a year later, Korra still has no problem recalling the feeling of Asami's lips. 

She'd been drunk off her ass that night, and no matter how _badly_ Korra had wanted to act upon her pent up feelings in that moment, she'd never once considered taking advantage of her best friend, hammered or not. She'd been stone-cold sober, however. The unfortunate designated driver for reasons she couldn't quite comprehend since driving had never exactly been her forte, and when she'd spoken to Asami the next day, it had been obvious that the other girl didn't remember a thing.

Korra had decided then never to remind her.

"Korra?" Asami's voice drifts into her thoughts, shaking her out of her reverie. "You okay?"

She blinks, looking up at Asami. "Yeah, just grossed out at how nasty your legs are."

"If you like _them_ , my feet are next in line, pal."

Korra gags a few times, and earns herself a smack on the shoulder as their meals arrive.

Much to her barely suppressed disappointment, Asami moves her legs from their place on her lap so she can eat without the obstruction. Yeah, she hadn't been kidding when she'd said that they'd been gross, (sunscreen is a dirt and dead bug magnet that somehow only protects half of the body parts you spray it on) but they were _Asami's_ dead bug encrusted legs, and she'd been happy to work the tension out at her friend's request.

She's halfway through ravaging her third waffle, drowned in all four different kinds of syrup, when Bolin pipes up, mouth full of not-omelet, or whatever the hell he managed to order.

"I love you guys!" he cries. Bolin is notorious for getting emotional over food, so it's really no surprise to see tears streaming down his stuffed cheeks. Thankfully, he swallows before speaking again. "What're we going to do after we graduate?"

"Drum corps," Mako says like they actually have that kind of money. It's a joke, but Mako's never been good with jokes, so no one laughs. "College. Whatever comes first, I guess."

To be fair, Opal and Asami aren't exactly lacking in the financial department, and Korra's always kind of assumed joining a corps with her friends would be like, a _lot_ of fun, but she's always dismissed the idea as soon as she looks into the costs. 

Marching band isn't the kind of thing she's ever figured she could detach herself from right out of high school. It's a community, a _family,_ and she's met all of her best friends in the organization. The music is always awesome, marching is actually _incredibly_ physical, and they work harder than _any_ of the so-called "sports" teams. It's just really hard to think of her life without it. _Professional_ marching band might just be the perfect out. If only she made more than eight bucks an hour on the off-chance someone needs their lawn mowed or their house power-washed.

"Why not?" Asami says, and the rest of the table turns immediately to look at her. "We've always joked about it. Why don't we all go to a camp and see if it's something we'd like to do together?"

Apparently, Asami is not only beautiful and perfect and the nicest person in the known universe, but she's also a talented mind-reader.

"Asami and I can pay for the camp fees," Opal adds, now looking rather intrigued at the whole idea. She smiles over at her boyfriend. "I know Bolin's always wanted to audition."

"Woah, woah, hold on!" Mako says, frantically waving his hands in front of his face. "I was _kidding._ You guys can't actually be serious about this! Camp fees alone have to be—"

"Well within our means," Asami interrupts. "Let's do it. Just the five of us."

Bolin starts crying again, Mako looks like he's been poked right between the eyes, Asami and Opal are talking about colorguard _whatever,_ and Korra really has no idea what's just happened.

 

* * *

 

Later, she tries to find the moment she was roped into attempting to join a drum corps with her best friends, but gives up the endeavor as soon as she realizes that she doesn't _care._ An entire summer of music and friends and memories she'll carry for the rest of her life? Badass.

She's in the car with Asami, and they've just dropped Bolin and Mako off at their little apartment near the school with more than a few promises to check out camp dates from Bolin, and a lot of grumbling from Mako. He's excited about the whole idea—that deep scowl is just how he shows it.

"How're we going to pick a corps?" Korra says, scrolling through her phone as images of men and women in elaborate uniforms slide past, all holding instruments or weapons or flags. "Bolin's going to want to check out The Cadets, but Mako's a Bluecoats fan, and I know you and Opal would love Santa Clara—"

Asami places a hand on Korra's arm, and it derails her train of thought almost instantly. She smiles at Korra when they hit a red light, and it makes her feel warm right down to the tips of her toes. Whatever she might have been worried about (what the hell was it again?) is now such a non-issue that it might as well have been a conversation on what color the sky is. Right now, it's black. Not really a topic for discussion.

"We'll figure it out sooner or later," Asami says, still smiling. "It's been a long day. You want to go to The Point?"

She grins, nods because Asami always seems to know when she needs a little R&R, always seems to know the right thing to say, or the right place to go, and Korra's heart swells in her chest when Asami's fingers brush her knuckles before she places her other hand back on the steering wheel.

The Point isn't anything special, just a weird rock formation by the cliffs outside of their little town. The two of them had found it completely on accident, biking around the outskirts when they were younger, looking for something to do. It might just be a bunch of stones, but Korra gets a rush of nostalgia every time she and Asami visit.

They get out of the car and Asami settles herself under one of the granite outcroppings and Korra plops down next to her, trying to ignore the jittery feeling that runs through her limbs when Asami scoots right up next to her and leans her head against her shoulder.

"I'm exhausted," Asami murmurs.

"You could've just dropped me off at home."

Asami shrugs, which jostles both of them before saying something that makes Korra infinitely relieved that the other girl can't see her reddening face.

"I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Okay," Korra responds dumbly, but her mind can't process more than a few words at a time at the moment, so she can't exactly blame herself. "I mean—yeah. Cool."

She feels Asami shake with silent laughter. "You really are a poet, Korra."

"Hey, no one ever said drummers were good with words," she shoots back, but there's no fire behind it. "All I need to know is how to keep a beat."

"I think you know a little more than you give yourself credit for," she says, and Korra can _hear_ a very specific smile of hers, even though she doesn't look to see, she just _knows_. "Like, what the hell is a paradiddle?"

Korra snorts. Leave it to a guard girl to ask about the diddles.

She explains the rudiment, drumming on her outstretched thighs like she'd normally do with the absence of sticks. Asami watches carefully, but Korra just knows intuitively that the other girl doesn't give two shits about drum rudiments. Then again, she'd had no idea what a flourish was until the back end of Asami's rifle had hit her funny bone. She'd learned a few very important things that day. Don't walk over the guard equipment, don't walk through the _guard,_ because goddamn if flourishes aren't painful as _fuck_.

Her explanations drift away, and she leans her head against Asami's and just _breathes._

For reasons she's kept locked away, deep in the recesses of her mind, she always feels at peace with Asami. Even caked in dirt and sweat, backs against jagged stone, asses on rough gravel, she feels as if she could stay there, looking up at the night sky, Asami tucked into her side—forever.

She's about ready to pass out, cheek pressed against Asami's hair, when she feels a surprisingly smooth hand cover her own.

It feels wonderful, soothing, but she's about to ask Asami if there's something wrong when the other girl sighs through her nose and runs her thumb along the side of her own, much rougher hand and mutters a reverent, "Four years, huh?"

Korra exhales a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in, and the motion turns into a soft laugh. "Mmm."

"Weren't we just learning how to march?" Asami asks.

"You make it sound like it was yesterday."

"Doesn't it feel that way?"

Korra hums in affirmation. "Guess so," she says, and then grins wide and open. "Remember how we met?"

"Well, I remember you throwing a very painful drum stick at me the first day of rookie camp." 

"I didn't throw it _at_ you!" Korra protests, throwing her free hand up without disturbing their position. "I threw it in your general direction. You just happened to run _into_ it."

Asami laughs, and Korra doesn't miss the way her fingers move to lace together with her own, warm and soft and wonderful. "You keep telling yourself that."

There's no use in arguing with a Sato, Korra's learned that fact the hard way. Instead, she focuses on their interlocked fingers, trying to compress the pleasant feeling in her chest and pack it away so she'll remember how it feels to hold Asami's hand just as vividly as she remembers what it feels like to kiss her.

The thought startles her, even though _she's_ the one thinking it. This close, Korra could easily lean down and… no. No, Asami was drunk, stupid, and not at all like she is now. Still, Korra feels the urge to ask her if she recalls, and if so, in what way.

Apparently, Asami feels her sudden mood change, because she pulls herself away slowly. "You okay? You just got… like, _really_ tense."

_Now or never._

Korra takes a deep breath, turns to look at the other girl. "Do you… do you remember Tahno's party last year?"

Asami visibly stiffens, but she tries playing it off with a small smile. "Grain alcohol. Not really."

"Can you remember _anything_?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it lightly, and while in most situations, it'd be something Korra would love to observe, now she's just interested in what Asami can remember about the night that pulled her sexuality into question.

"I… yeah. Yeah, a few things."

"Like?" she presses.

Asami sighs, and for a moment she thinks she shouldn't be pushing her this hard. It seems unlikely they're talking about different things with the way Asami pulls her hand away from Korra's, but she's gone this far. 

"Look, I know where you're going with this, but—"

"So you remember?"

It's not the sunburn this time, Asami is _definitely_ blushing. "I kissed you," she admits softly, and Korra can't help but feel a little hurt by her tone—guarded, like the whole event had been something she'd been regretting. "I didn't ask, I was drunk, I was stupid, I'm sorry. Why are we discussing this _now_?"

"You were holding my hand, I kind of just… remembered it, I guess," Korra says, matching Asami's tone. "Nothing to be sorry about, though. I'm sure you're a better kisser when you're sober— _wow_ that came out wrong."

The tension in the air snaps right in half when Asami's face breaks into a huge grin and she tosses her head back, laughing like she's never heard anything funnier in her entire life. Korra just watches her for a moment, half because Asami laughing is kind of like watching the sun rise, and half because she's in some kind of shock at both what she's said and the fact that Asami is _laughing_ at her.

Asami huffs, wiping a tear from her eye. "I'd hope so," She smiles at Korra, who feels her heart miss a few too many beats to be healthy, and says, "You've got a point to all this. You're making that face."

"What—" She touches her face, frowns. "What face?"

"The patented 'I'm Korra and I Have a Point to Make' face."

"Am not."

Asami rolls her eyes. "What's your point, Korra?"

She slumps back against the rocks, now wondering if she should even say anything with the way her so-called 'best friend' is teasing her. Asami is the queen of Making Things Difficult, and Korra's ninety-nine percent sure she knows. So, having things made difficult, she takes a steadying breath, grabs Asami's hand without looking at her, and arranges her thoughts into something she can pass off as a coherent sentence.

"Remember when I told you that I thought I was bi?"

_Great start. Wonderful._

She's not looking at the other girl, but she can see Asami smile out of the corner of her eye. "Of course. You told me not to tell anyone else."

"You remember _when_ I told you?"

"Band camp," Asami says, and then, like the mind-reader she is, finds the unspoken question in her words. "After the party," Korra nods, and doesn't move as Asami slides next to her, slumped against the wall like she is, and weaves their fingers together again properly. "Do you remember when I told you that _I_ thought I was bi?"

Korra's face immediately slams into a frown, and she whips her neck around to look at Asami, who's decidedly _not_ looking at her.

" _What_ —you're—uh, no. I... _now_?"

Asami just hums in response, and while it's not an actual word, Korra can only assume that it's a _yes_.

For a few moments, they just sit there against the uncomfortable rocks, and it's all Korra can really do to figure out what exactly they're admitting to each other.

It's easy to think back to all the moments she and Asami had shared over the years. Every twelve-hour practice, every show day, every quiet moment under the bleachers, every smile, every little touch. Korra's never really been one for sentiment and other gushy emotions, but in the darkness of the night, overlooking the city with Asami's hand in hers, she feels kind of like a block of jello. 

"So…" Korra begins, but she doesn't have anything else.

It's all outrageously awkward. Well, _Korra_ is, at least. Asami's always been the composed one, and somehow whatever they've been confessing doesn't seem at all out of place for her.

Luckily, Asami has had enough with the palpable silence and the tension that crackles between their fingers, because she leans over, and her other hand brushes over Korra's jaw, moving her face so they're looking at each other.

Korra feels as if her heart is about to burst right out of her chest, but Asami is smiling, barely biting back a laugh, and she just shakes her head and threads her fingers through the hair at the back of her neck and says, like it's the easiest thing in the world, "Come here, dork."

It's awesome.

Awesome even though they manage to mash their noses together because Korra's not sure which way Asami's turning (but Asami exhales a laugh against her lips, so it's all totally okay), and awesome even though they're so _so_ gross from rehearsal and Korra's about a million percent sure she smells like something died in a dumpster full of old shoes, but once she actually finds Asami's lips with her own, and no one is drunk off their ass, just— _awesome._

Korra keeps one hand on Asami's knee, and pulls away first entirely because she's feeling a little too loopy from kissing her best friend and not because of severe oxygen deprivation (if she gets to kiss Asami like this all the time, she'll figure out the need for air later) and she tries not to make some sort of pathetic noise when Asami looks at her the way she does.

Asami scratches lightly at the back of Korra's neck and it feels like, _really_ nice, so she closes her eyes and doesn't even try to hold back the goofy smile that crosses her lips.

"You okay?" Asami asks, and Korra doesn't have to open her eyes to know she's trying not to laugh. 

"Mmm," she hums, pops open one eye. She's totally right, Asami looks about ready to crack up. She flexes her fingers on Asami's knee. "Your legs are still super nasty, but I think I can handle it."

Asami sighs, long-suffering but not angry, smacks Korra's shoulder, and pulls away (way too far away) to stand up. 

She glances down at Korra, hands on her hips, looking like the most gorgeous sunburnt sabre-spinning woman in existence. Or maybe just the most gorgeous person in existence. Either works, but it's probably the latter.

"We were having a _moment,_ Korra."

"Hey, I'm still in the moment!" she protests, moving to stand. "Your legs _are_ gross, but I said I could handle it. We're good. Continue the moment."

She rolls her eyes when Korra manages to pull herself to her feet. There's gravel on her hands and on her ass and it's not super comfortable, but Asami is still trying really hard not to laugh, and her eyes are sparkling, so the ass crack gravel kind of takes a backseat.

"Come on," Asami says, and grabs her hand. "Home. Shower. Sleep."

She groans, but she lets Asami drag her back to the car, lets her lace their fingers together on the way back, lets her turn the radio on to that horrible pop station she listens to _solely_ to get on Korra's nerves. Asami doesn't even _like_ pop, neither of them do. But Korra's in that wired, delirious stage of exhaustion, and Asami's hand is soft and strong and she doesn't have to think back a year to remember what her best friend's lips feel like, so she'll deal with the pop music for now.

They're at Korra's house entirely too soon, and she's slumped down in her seat, pouting. 

"Sleep is for the weak. I'm not going in there."

"Cranky Korra is not my favorite kind of Korra, thanks," she says with a little smirk. "Go. I'll text you later."

She frowns, squeezes Asami's hand. "Not while you're driving, okay?"

It's warm, tender smiles like these that make Korra's heart want to fly out of her chest. "Of course not." 

"Cool," she says, grins. "Can we have another _moment_ before you throw me out?"

"Not if you're going to comment on my _gross-ass_ legs again."

"What if I comment on your super hot legs?" she concedes. "That may or may not be covered in dirt and dead bugs but that's totally not a problem at all for anyone—still super hot."

"You _really_ need to work on your smooth-talking, buddy."

Korra grins, and the look earns her a little giggle. "Is that a yes?"

Asami doesn't respond. Verbally, at least.

Her fingers slide along Korra's jaw, and she tucks a strand of hair that's fallen free from her short ponytail, and Korra's brain kind of fizzles out because the look Asami is giving her is like, really intense, but she's leaning in, and then her brain _completely_ short-circuits because Asami's lips are officially the greatest thing ever.

It's only when Korra is standing in her driveway, dazedly watching Asami pull away that she realizes what's happened between them. She can still feel Asami's lips on her own, even after her car is well out of view, even after she's washed off an entire day of _band,_ even after she's laying in bed, conveniently forgetting about all the homework she hasn't done.

She's not sure if two kisses make them girlfriends or anything, but hey, if Asami's up for that, she's not gonna say _no_.

A few minutes into her musings, her phone buzzes, and she almost falls off of the bed, grabbing it in a panic.

It's Asami, obviously: _My legs are no longer gross._

Korra (11:50 PM): _proud a u_  

Asami (11:50 PM): _I aim to please, apparently :P_

They text back and forth for a while, and Korra can't stop smiling, even though her cheeks feel about ready to fall right off of her face. Asami sends her a few camp dates for corps in the area, and a really cute picture of a puppy that looks a little like Naga when she was that small, and while she's glad for any communication at all, she just really wants to hear Asami's voice. 

There's only one ring before Asami picks up.

_"Did you want a bedtime story?"_

"Rumpelstiltskin please."

 _"God,_ really _? Not—I don't know, anything_ but _Rumpelstiltskin?"_

"Are you questioning my impeccable taste in bedtime stories?"

_"Yes. I'm also questioning your sanity."_

"Here I thought we were friends."

_"Friends, hmm?"_

"Well, I guess Rumpelstiltskin is as good a segue as any. Although I think we made him disappear."

 _"_ This _is your definition of a good segue? You're not doing wonders for your whole 'sanity' case. Also, does he fall under_ Beetlejuice _rules?"_

"We're still talking about the fucking fairy tale? And yes, it's the whole three strikes deal."

_"Hey, you brought it up."_

"What _ever_."

_"I kind of get the feeling you didn't call for a bedtime story."_

"Yeah, no. More like uh… I don't know, relationship… things?"

_"Mmm?"_

"You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

_"I have no idea what you're talking about, Korra."_

"Asshole."

_"Ooh, vicious. Maybe I'm too tired to talk to you anymore. I think I'll just hang—"_

"Oh my god, _fine._ Are we dating now?"

 _"Well you_ did _just call me an asshole so I'm not sure…"_

"You're not an asshole, your legs are super hot and not gross, I like kissing you a _lot,_ please be my girlfriend. Good? Good."

_"I can work with that. For now."_

"Is that a yes?"

_"Tentatively, sure. We still have all of the paperwork to go through, and I know you need a proper girlfriend license in this state-"_

"You joke, Sato."

_"Unfortunately, not really. Pseudo jokes aside, I'll be your girlfriend, Korra. And just for the record, I like kissing you a lot too."_

 

* * *

 

Korra doesn't know how many hours pass, but when she hangs up finally (reluctantly), the sky is a dark blue with the sun just under the horizon. She's probably going to get like two hours of sleep, but she can't really be fucked to care because Asami is her _girlfriend_ now, as she's still kind of reeling from the realization.

Also her face hurts from smiling, but it's a good kind of hurt. Like old snare harnesses with the padding stripped and picked off, digging into her shoulders. Like sunburns and band tans. Like the way her feet feel like they've been welded into the ground after twelve hours of standing and marching. Like the way her heart aches when Asami smiles at her. Like the gravel she'd sat on just to be close to her.

She gets two hours of sleep, yeah, but her best friend is her girlfriend.

It's pretty awesome.

 


	2. Flam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I probably wouldn't continue this, but…
> 
> I don't own _The Legend of Korra_.

They've got their obligatory one day without rehearsal, which is Korra's favorite and least favorite day of the week.

Korra could care less that she's running off of two hours of sleep, because she'd been awake until five for good reason, and she'll doze off in any class that's not music anyway. When she gets to the band room, it turns out that Tenzin doesn't have anything scheduled for the day, and instead is cooped up in his broom closet of an office, hunched over the computer.

"Knock knock," she says, and also knocks. Both things are kind of redundant since the door is open anyway. "On a scale of one to ten, how busy are you?"

"Twenty," Tenzin sighs wearily. "Come in if you'd like, but I can't promise I'll be too involved in conversation at the moment."

She motions to Mako and Bolin, who follow her into the tiny office, which is immediately crowded. Bolin flops down on the beat-up futon in the corner, and her and Mako wedge themselves in on either side of him. There's really not enough room for the three of them, and Mako's knees knock up against a filing cabinet, but there's really no difference between sitting and standing in Tenzin's cramped office.

Tenzin types furiously, not meeting any of his students' eyes, but Korra knows this disposition means he's listening—passively at least.

"So… we had some questions about drum corps," Korra begins, not really sure of what to say. "You marched, didn't you?"

Tenzin's always been a fairly private man, as well as an excellent music teacher. He kind of seems to have his hands in every section of the band, as do most music teachers, so Korra's never really be able to pin him down to one instrument. She'd also always assumed that he was more of a symphonic band kind of guy, so when someone had let it slip that he'd been in a corps, Korra had had a difficult time believing it.

He nods before tapping out a few more sentences. "Many years ago. They don't go by the same name I marched under any longer."

"What did you play?" Bolin asks, leaning forward on the futon, which gives Korra a little more room.

He angles his head at Mako, eyes not leaving the computer. "Mellophone. I played flute in high school, but they wouldn't let _that_ on the field." He chuckles to himself.

" _Flute?_ You—actually, that kind of makes a lot of sense," Korra says, easily matching instrument to man. "Mello seems like a good fit too."

"Yeah, you're a pretty _mellow_ guy," Bolin, oh god Bolin. "See what I did there? Mellow like the word not the—"

"We get it, bro," Mako sighs. "I've heard the joke a million times."

Tenzin smiles, so Bolin doesn't feel like a _complete_ failure. "As have I. Jokes aside, are you three looking to march this summer?"

"Asami and Opal, too. We've been talking about it… but, you know, _advice_ is always nice for something with this level of commitment," Korra says, "and you're kind of The Advice Guy."

Finally, Tenzin pulls his eyes away from the computer screen. "The Advice Guy, hm? Well, I'm glad to see that you three are really thinking this through. I'd be more than happy to advise."

Tenzin does give good advice, and however irritating it might be to admit, he's usually right.

He tells them about what it's like to go on tour for the summer. The long bus rides, the tight quarters, the sights, the sounds, the _smells._ Kind of like their bus rides to competitions, but across several state lines. He also tells them how it feels to perform in front of tens of thousands of adoring fans, how it feels to win a championship title, and then another, and _another_.

By the time the bell rings, Korra kind of feels like she's been on a tour bus for the better half of an hour. She'd been all kinds of exhausted walking into class, but talking to Tenzin about his experiences is nothing if not invigorating.

She's eating Mako's pretzels at lunch, sipping an energy drink so she doesn't end up dead by the end of the day. She's also texting like she's not supposed to at school, but fuck the system. She doesn't get a good enough education to follow _all_ of the rules.

Korra (12:14 PM): _do u think i'd look good in christmas colors_

Asami (12:16 PM): _i'm not going to answer that_

Korra (12:16 PM): _i think i would ;D what about maroon and gold_

Asami (12:17 PM): _no_

Korra (12:17 PM): _ur hurting my feelings ):_

Asami (12:18 PM): _you look great in blue, it matches your eyes :)_

Korra (12:18 PM):  _blue? or BLOOOOOOO_

Asami (12:19 PM): _XD the second one!_ _we'll talk later, i'm about to take a test… :/_

Korra (12:19 PM): _good luck! :DDD_

Okay, so Asami's input isn't really all that helpful. What also is not helpful is the fact that their schedules are so out of sync that there is almost a zero percent chance she'll see Asami at any point in the day unless she crashes one of her classes. She's thought about it. Several times. 

Activities that might land her in detention aside, she's no closer to deciding on an organization, (not that she's about to make this big of a decision based on _colors_ ) but then again, Mako and Bolin aren't being very helpful either.

"Hey, where'd you get those pretzels?" Mako asks, digging through his lunch bag.

She swallows. "I found them."

Bolin snorts, and fuck him, her cover's been blown.

"Those were my pretzels, asshole!"

"Well they're gone now," Korra says, pats her stomach. "Next time, I expect sticks."

"Sticks are stupid."

" _What?_ "

Talk shit, get hit.

 

* * *

 

Korra's last few classes definitely take ten hours.

Bolin has to wake her up three times in English, and Mako doesn't even bother trying to wake her in Biology, because he's asleep as well.

When the final bell rings, dismissing the entire school for the day, it sounds very similar to angels descending from the heavens, and she staggers out of her seat and makes a beeline for the parking lot. 

On the way there, she picks up an iced tea from the vending machine, and checks to make sure the apple in her backpack isn't too beat up so she doesn't look lame, leaning against Asami's car with a dented can and a bruised piece of fruit. The apple is, thankfully, intact.

She plasters a super cool (super dumb) grin on her face when she notices Asami coming towards her car, nose buried in a notebook.

Asami is not good at taking breaks when it comes to guard, as well as schoolwork. Korra doesn't think there's anyone more serious about their work in the entire school (maybe the entire _world_.) She's a shoe-in for valedictorian, she's got like a million scholarships to a million different schools already, and also she's really hot and really nice and Korra's girlfriend now— _yeah._

"You done on that cure for cancer yet?"

She looks up from her notes abruptly, staggering to a stop and blinking those gorgeous green eyes a few times before smiling in that way that makes Korra just a little (a lot) weak in the knees. "Just about."

"Come _on,_ it's been like, a _week._ You're slacking, Sato."

Asami's smile turns into a full-fledged toothy grin, and she walks right up to Korra and plants a kiss on her cheek. "I've been distracted," She winks, and Korra swoons like an idiot. "What's this?"

"Oh, um," She tries not to look like Asami's just rendered her inept in all of a second. She _has_ , but that's not important. "I got you that gross raspberry tea you like. And I had this apple, and I know how much you like red delicious, so—"

Korra has never been cut off in the middle of a sentence so _effectively._

Asami closes the distance between the two of them, and for several long moments, Korra forgets her name and how to breathe and a few other vital things that seem a lot less vital with Asami's lips on hers.

"Thank you," Asami says once they've parted, but Korra can still feel her breath on her lips, which is really not helping how much and how awesomely her head is spinning. "I've had a rough day, and I just… that's really thoughtful. Thank you."

"No problem," she says, more than a little hoarse. "What happened? Anyone I can beat the shit out of for you?"

Asami laughs, and it's the best thing Korra's heard all day. "If you'd like to beat some sense into my Calc and Chem teachers, feel free."

"Don't tempt me," Korra grumbles. She hands Asami her tea and apple. "Is that what your test was today?"

Asami just sighs. They jump in her car, and she starts the engine before expanding upon her day. "It was just a quiz, actually. The tests are tomorrow. So are the worksheets. _And_ my papers."

Korra grimaces, but takes her hand as they exit the lot. She laces their fingers together before speaking, "They're trying to kill you. Don't be surprised if they come to class tomorrow with broken necks."

"I'm pretty sure that would kill _them_. Also I seriously doubt they'd be coming to school with broken necks."

"Even better."

She can't exactly take her eyes off of the road, but Korra knows that smile is for her, and she squeezes Asami's hand because she can, and it just feels really nice to be able to do these kinds of things.

 

* * *

 

Asami drops her off at home like she had the previous night, and much to Korra's delight, she gets even _more_ kisses this time.

"You want to come in?" Korra asks when they part for a moment, twirls a stray curl around her finger (god, Asami's hair is so _soft._ ) "My mom's making sea prune stew."

"Okay, first of all," she begins, ticking off her points on her fingers. "the last time you asked me to try sea prune stew I threw up. And second, you are not going to let me get _any_ of my work done."

Korra pouts, but she's not even going to argue with either of those totally correct facts. "Alright, _fine,_ " she mutters. "I guess I'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow, then."

Asami smiles, nods. Gives her more kisses.

_Hell yeah._

 

* * *

 

They're at practice the next day, and while Korra _should_ be able to enjoy an extended break with her girlfriend, she is instead glaring out at the field.

Everyone already knows Kuvira marched drum corps last summer, she doesn't have to do this shit. 

When she needs to look (even more) intimidating, or set an example, or _whatever,_ she'll pull on her black and blue windbreaker with the fancy lettering on the back and jazz run up and down the field with one of the King euphoniums. Those things are heavy as shit, yeah, but Korra knows for a fact that her snare is heavier so fuck Kuvira and fuck her perfect posture.

"Why is she doing that?"

Asami pops a frozen grape in her mouth and shrugs. "You've got to admit, she's pretty damn scary."

Korra frowns out at the field where their drum major is now doing one-handed push-ups with the euph behind her back. "I could do that."

"Mmm," Asami hums, and it's that _I've got you now, bitch_ kind of hum. "Jealous, are we?"

"Annoyed."

"Sounds like you're jealous."

She turns on her girlfriend, who's just sitting on her water jug, innocently munching on fruit like she's not being _terrible._ "I could run her ass right into the ground."

"Sure." 

"What do you mean, ' _sure?'_ " Korra yelps, because even if Asami's just fucking with her, she's not _jealous._ She holds her bicep out in front of Asami's face and flexes. "Touch it."

Asami pauses mid-chew, gives her a _look._ "Do you need some kind of validation that you're better than our drum major?"

"Yes," She waves her arm around pointedly. "Please."

Asami just smiles, which is always awesome to see, shoves a strawberry in Korra's mouth and plants a kiss on her cheek. "I definitely like you more."

It's not a good strawberry, but she swallows it and grins, wide and probably really goofy-looking. "That's all I needed to hear."

They sit there for the rest of their blessed water break, and Korra makes Asami laugh more times than she can count, and they're all really nice and genuine so she knows she's doing _something_ right. They haven't told their group of friends yet—about them. But at the moment, she's just enjoying hanging out with Asami, girlfriend or best friend or anything in between.

Before they head back out on to the field, Asami gives her another quick peck on the cheek, and Korra figures that'll be more than enough to keep her going for the next however many hours of sun exposure and dehydration.

They're in sectionals next, and it's not that Korra doesn't like sectionals, just more that Bumi moves the entire drumline as far away from the guard as he can, just to make her life a living hell. Okay, not really, the move has nothing to do with her, obviously. 

"Gather 'round, troops!" Bumi announces, standing atop a tree stump with his arms outstretched. "Make an arc, and make it badass!"

Korra rolls her eyes, but takes her place at the apex of the curve, two snares on either side. The tenors line up to her left, the basses to her right, cymbals in front, and Bumi strikes a pose atop his tree trunk.

"I want to hear the most perfect warm up that has ever been played! I want it to sound like—no, I want it to sound _better_ than my old Navy drumline!"

If she doesn't count off in the next ten seconds, there's like a three hundred percent chance the man is going to launch into one of his infamous sea stories and they're not going to get one fucking thing done. While this option is preferable on many occasions, today Korra's sort of feeling like being productive.

She taps off, and the drumline follows. 

Being center snare is kind of the coolest thing ever. 

That and kissing Asami, of course, but she hasn't had the opportunity to do that _nearly_ as much as she'd like to. 

Right out of rookie camp, hands raw and wrists shot from figuring out the beat-up cymbals she'd been put on, she'd known that the only place she'd ever want to be in the band was holding two sticks, standing right in the middle of the snare line. The older vets had moved her to third bass her second year, and junior year, she'd beat out the best drummer in the school for the coveted spot.

It feels damn good.

Before she knows it, though, practice is over, and she's packing her drum and harness away, trying not to look like an active participant in a prank on Bumi that involves many decibels more than the human ear should be able to handle.

To be fair, it's not _her_ idea. Which is why she's watching from afar as Wing and Wei creep up behind the unsuspecting man, and crash their respective cymbals on either side of his head. If Bumi goes deaf in that moment, Korra will deny any and all involvement. She may be the percussion captain, but she's not about to take the fall for the twins. 

"You had something to do with that, didn't you?"

Korra turns around from her place beside the percussion trailer, and tries not to look suspicious or like she was almost in tears when Asami crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow like she's trying to be intimidating. Okay, she _is_ intimidating, but whatever. That's not the point.

"Me? _No,_ of course not," she says with like, zero confidence. "We didn't need what— _seven_ Beifongs? Five is enough, I think."

Asami looks past her, out to the field where Bumi is running at about half a mile an hour, huffing and puffing and yelling profanities at the twins, who are running much faster and laughing and doing (really, quite good) cymbal visuals. "Have you ever heard of an accomplice? Because I'm pretty sure you fall under that title at the moment."

"Have you ever heard of _beauty_ _?_  Because I'm looking at the personification of it at the moment."

Much to Korra's delight, the horrible line renders Asami speechless, and she just kind of gapes. It's cool, because Korra doesn't think she's ever been able to do this before.

"Oh my _god,_ Korra."

"Genius, I know," she says, proudly puffing out her chest. "I'll be writing a book on smooth-talking soon. I'll dedicate it to you."

Asami just shakes her head with a smile, and Korra can't help but feel a little jittery with the way she looks at her, the way she takes her hand and says, "You are the most adorable doofus I have ever met."

Korra winks at her. "All I heard was "adorable." I'll take it."

It makes Asami laugh, which is really all Korra cares to do for the rest of ever.

"Is that what I think it is?"

They spin around, only to see a very smug Opal and a very excited Bolin, standing side by side. Asami sighs beside her, but when Korra turns to look, she's smiling, so it's all cool. 

"Have something to say, _Beifong_?"

Opal smirks. "Oh I don't know, _Sato._ Maybe I was totally right about who's ass you were staring at all rehearsal."

Woah, wait. 

She whips her head around to look at Asami, and she's red down to her neck, mouth set in a firm line, and she's glaring daggers at Opal.

"Are you guys dating now?" Bolin almost squeals, happily but not very helpfully. "Because—double dates, _immediately._ "

Double dates do sound fun, but what sounds substantially _more_ fun is the knowledge that Asami had been _checking her out._

She'd found it easy to be cocky and confident when her playing had landed her one of the most prestigious spots in the band. But Korra had always carried this little voice of self-doubt around in her head, a voice that got substantially louder whenever she was around Asami. 

It's not that anything the other girl _did_ had ever really perpetuated this feeling, in fact, they'd gotten in these strange praise-fights before. Who looked better that day, or who was more amazing in general, or _wow_ your makeup is on point today, but _no,_ goddammit, your hair looks incredible! Those usually turned into fits of laughter, but Korra still can't quite shake the feeling that Asami was and has always been way out of her league. Out of _anyone's_ league.

Asami is the picture of grace and composure. That's why when they listen to judge's tapes, there's always a comment like _"Well it's obvious your rifle/sabre feature has corps experience—the whole guard should look like her!"_ or something along those lines. Korra might get great feedback from the percussion judges, but she's a clumsy, uncoordinated idiot off-field.

Still, the fact remains.

"You were checking me out."

Asami's still a little flushed when she turns to meet her eyes. "Guilty as charged." 

"Awesome," Korra says, and she can't really take her eyes off Asami. "I mean, you've always got free tickets to the gun show, so, you know," She flexes her free arm. " _bang._ "

It's about a second and a half before Opal and Bolin are thrown into simultaneous fits of laughter, and then Asami's wrapped her arms around Korra's middle and she's leaning her head against her shoulder and is actually _wheezing,_ and up until this point in Korra's life, she's never considered a life as a comedian. A bad comedian, maybe one that smashes fruit with a sledgehammer.

Everything gets funnier when Mako shows up which is weird, yes, but it's because he has no idea what anyone is laughing at, and he also looks confused as to why Asami's essentially wrapped herself around Korra. She just shrugs at him, and he shrugs back and they wait for their friends to calm down.

Opal's the first to speak up, wiping honest-to-god tears from her eyes. "Oh my god, _okay,_ " she huffs, leaning heavily on her boyfriend. "We actually came over here to bring you guys along to talk to my mom about camps."

It takes a few more belated giggles, but they all manage to make their way over to Suyin where she's talking placatingly to Opal's brother, Huan.

"Honey, I know you like that dub-whatever music, but I also know Junior gave you instructions for what to do on the MacBook," she says, places a hand on his shoulder. "Also, I really think you should apologize to Wu. He's been wanting to use the new synth for a while now and… well, just tell him you didn't mean it."

Huan sighs dramatically, like the dramatic teenager he is. "Bataar's crushing my individuality. Wu doesn't understand my music. No one _gets it!_ "

He storms off, leaving Su free to attend to people who won't bitch nearly as much.

She notices their group with a weary smile. "I hope you all don't have any complaints for me."

"No mom," Opal begins with a laugh. "We just wanted to talk to you about an idea we had."

"Drum corps!" Bolin adds enthusiastically. "Well _camps_ , but it's the same difference, I guess."

"Asami and I wanted to help with fees so the five of us can go in the winter! But, you know, you make the money so…"

"But we completely understand if you wouldn't be comfortable with that, ma'am." Mako interrupts.

Su just smiles. "I think it sounds like a wonderful idea, guys. I'd tell you to try out for my old corps, but they've been defunct for quite some time now. Just let me know when you find one, and I'll be happy to help."

The excitement that washes over the five of them is like something out of a stupid high school movie out of the eighties. Bolin sweeps Su up in a hug, and Opal joins him, Mako tries to pull his brother off, but the younger guy is decidedly not going anywhere.

"We're actually going to do this," Korra says, and it's equal parts disbelief and wonder.

Asami nudges her side. "Yeah we are. I'll talk to my dad tonight, although he might take a little more convincing. He never marched in a championship-winning corps."

If Korra can remember the grainy pictures Opal had brought in for one rehearsal with more than a few laughs—Su and the rest of her old guard in these flowy lavender-ish gown things, and the rest of the band in _capes._ Uhg, the early nineties were a scary time for marching band as a whole.

Asami's dad on the other hand, has always seemed to have this irrational hatred for the marching arts and everything involved. Fortunately, his love for his daughter seems to surpass his hatred for the organization, because Asami's been immersed in guard since before high school. Hopefully, his love will extend to his daughter's desire to spend an entire summer at the art.

Korra figures this is as good a time as any to express her concern. "What d'you think he'll say?"

Asami seems to contemplate this for a moment. "Won't know until I ask."

As much as Korra trusts in Asami's capabilities, knows she'll be able to convince her stubborn father, it still doesn't change the fact that Hiroshi Sato is kind of an asshole. She'll never say that to Asami, but she knows the other girl doesn't always see eye to eye with her father.

She doesn't realize she's been lost in thought until someone starts yelling.

Thankfully, no one's yelling at _her,_ but unfortunately, Bolin has done something wrong or stupid or just very Bolin-like, because the visual tech, Su's much more aggressive sister, Lin, has him balancing a contra on each shoulder.

"What kind of section leader lets their rookies use the good horns?" she growls, looking like she's about to bite Bolin's head off. "If I'd let that shit happen back when I ran the contra line, I'd be running laps until my lungs exploded!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, it won't happen again ma'am!" Bolin all but whimpers, and it's then that Korra notices that Mako and the others have conveniently disappeared, and it's probably best if her and Asami do the same.

She tugs on Asami's arm, who immediately gets the message, and they retreat off of the field while Bolin runs around the field with sixty pounds on his shoulders.

Korra hopes the next time she sees Bolin, he isn't six feet under.

 

* * *

 

Actually, the next time she sees Bolin, it's about twenty minutes later in the band room.

He walks in looking like a kicked puppy, all but dragging his two contras along.

Opal's obviously the first one to notice him, and she puts her flag bag down to hurry over to him. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

Bolin just shuffles over to his girlfriend, and lets his head rest on her shoulder as she wraps her arms around him and rubs his back. "I can't feel my arms."

"Not surprising," Mako says from his place on the floor. He's polishing his fucking horn again— _why._ "How many laps did you do?"

"I dunno," he mumbles dejectedly into Opal's shoulder. "I want ice cream."

Opal perks up at this. "Ice cream sounds great! It'll be our first double date—" she pauses. "and Mako, of course."

This seems to get Bolin out of his funk, because he grins at Opal, and then at Korra and Asami, and Mako's face goes from impassive to massively confused in about half a second. "Wait, _what?_ "

Asami groans beside Korra, and she can't help but snickering at Mako's stupid face. "You're our fifth wheel, buddy."

"Fifth—wait, wait. Since when are you two _dating_?"

"It's been like two days," Opal says. "Don't worry, they're just trying to leave all of their best friends out of the loop."

"We're not!" Korra protests. "It hasn't even _been_ two days! Did we have to inform the entire world the _moment_ it happened?"

" _Yes!_ " Mako, Bolin, and Opal yell in unison, which is kind of unsettling.

Asami just grabs Korra's hand, glaring defiantly at their friends. "We're dating, end of story. Now can we please go get some ice cream because I've had two of the worst tests of my entire life today and all I really want is some rocky road."

"Seconded." Korra adds.

The issue is dropped, because their friends have never been ones to make big deals about things like this—a fact that Korra is infinitely grateful for. Besides, ice cream sounds awesome, and watching Bolin try to move his arms around like a robot is pretty funny, and Mako's kind of just smiling to himself and Asami is still holding her hand.

They all pile in Asami's car, and take off like they don't have a care in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I wanted to update to motivate myself to continue, even though I totally said I wouldn't.
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for all of your awesome comments and kudos and suggestions, I appreciate each and every one of them! :)
> 
> I'd also like to thank my dumb friend Spencer, who helped me with some of these ridiculous headcanons.
> 
> If anyone can figure out which corps Tenzin and Su marched back in the day (they're both very real and very awesome), bonus points for you!
> 
> Also, if I didn't clarify something or you want to know anything about marching band or drum corps, just ask. :D
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading!


	3. Drag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only been… four months? sorryyyy
> 
> This chapter's a little shorter, but I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr, with not much on it lol:
> 
> bazaarwords.tumblr.com

She should realize immediately that something's off when Asami's late to practice.

First of all, Asami has never been late to anything in her entire _life._ It's a known fact. Secondly, Korra can see the weapons line from most of her dots, and she's usually staring at Asami anyway, so she's watching when she actually _drops._

The drumline gets put backfield often, so in each of her four years, Korra's had a front row seat to watch the guard perform. She's never been that interested in their work, ("their" being everyone _except_ Asami) so she knows that every time a flag or rifle or sabre drops, they're just supposed to play it off and keep spinning. And while Korra's seen her fair share of drops, she's never once seen Asami lose control of her weapon like that.

She knows she probably shouldn't acknowledge it like, _ever_ , but she's instantly worried and distracted and it's apparently showing in her playing because when Kuvira stops the band to rehearse a low brass hit, Bumi comes trotting over.

"Incoming!"

She blinks, tearing her eyes away from the guard. Bumi's keeled over in front of her, gasping like he's run a marathon. "Huh? What, sorry—uh, are you having a heart attack?"

"You're—" _huff,_ "You're not—" _wheeze,_ "No, I'm—" He takes a massive breath. "I'm fine! _You're_ not. What's the matter?"

She knows she shouldn't be letting anything hinder her playing. Rehearsal Korra is a completely different person than Everyday Korra, and while it may make her sound a little strange, Rehearsal Korra doesn't let outside conflicts impact what she does on the field. Except this isn't an outside conflict, this conflict is about three yard lines away.

Still, Bumi doesn't need to deal with this. "Nothing. And um, no offense, but you should probably sit down before you fall down, Bumi."

He's really not in any position to argue, so he doesn't, just huffs back to the sideline and plops down in one of the captain's chairs. 

By the grace of the black hole that is Kuvira's heart, she gives them a gulp-and-go, which is exactly what it sounds like, and the fifteen seconds Korra gets in between running to and from her drum don't give her enough time to even _see_ Asami let alone _talk_ to her.

She tries to focus for the remainder of practice, but she's still watching Asami, and even though Korra can't say she knows much about guard work, it _looks_ like her tosses don't seem to be lining up, and there's a hesitation she's never seen before.

Sometimes practices seem to drag on forever, but those are usually on ridiculously hot band camps in the middle of June, not comfortable evening rehearsals in early September. This one however, is slowly killing Korra. They're running sets where she can see Asami perfectly and not do anything about the way she wobbles uncertainly on her feet, not comfort her in any fucking way. 

Absolute torture.

And Kuvira—Kuvira with her black hole heart has given them exactly two water breaks that lasted all of a cumulative half a minute. Tenzin isn't coming to save them this time.

Korra is about to lose it when Asami drops _again._ She's about to (figuratively) march over to the side one forty and whisk her girlfriend off of the field and hug her and kiss whatever ails her away and get her a vat of rocky road ice cream because it's her favorite, and she's going to tuck her into bed and put on How It's Made because Asami loves the stupid show and god-fucking- _damnit_ Kuvira _end rehearsal already._

But Kuvira doesn't end anything. In fact, they're running Set Twenty-Two again. Korra absolutely despises Set Twenty-Two, wants nothing more than to burn the page right out of every band member's dot book because every time they go over the set, she feels like someone is stabbing her feet with rusty forks and kicking her when she falls into the pit of despair that is _this fucking set_.

It has to be at least ten years between the time they start running the only set that half the band can never get right and when Lin _,_ of all people, dismisses the band. Then it's ten nanoseconds between dismissal and Korra flipping her snare up against her chest and hauling serious ass over to where the guard is packing up.

"Opal!" she calls frantically, the realization that Asami isn't with the rest of the guard now dawning on her. "Opal, where's Asami?"

The look on Opal's face makes Korra's stomach drop right into her feet. "She's over at the spigot. But I don't—"

Korra's gone before she finishes her sentence.

In all seriousness, she probably should have taken her drum off, but her mind is only focused on one thing, and that one thing is filling her water bottle up at the rusty old spigot in the far corner of the field.

"Asami!" she calls, trotting over and probably looking like an idiot.

She looks up, and almost instantly, Korra sees something she doesn't like at all in Asami's eyes.

Finally, she takes the drum off, setting it on the grass beside them. "Are you okay?" she asks, and it sounds a little more desperate than she'd intended. She takes Asami's gloved hands. "I… I just—you seemed out of it and I thought…" 

"I'm fine, Korra," she says, and it sounds sincere so maybe it's nothing that _Korra's_ done wrong, but she's definitely not _fine._ "I'm okay."

The second time sounds she's trying to reassure herself, but Korra's busy noticing that while she's grasping Asami's hands, the other girl isn't reciprocating. It sends a sickening jolt through her system.

"Did I… do something?" 

Asami hesitates, her eyes dart towards the street beside the field. At this point, Korra's ready to heave. "No. No, I'm—" She pulls her hands away, and Korra can't help but notice that there's genuine _fear_ in her eyes as she takes a step away. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

It's really _not_ okay, but she doesn't have any time to respond, because Asami's gone before she can open her mouth.

 

* * *

 

"What's wrong?"

She's sitting against the percussion trailer, just kind of staring off into the distance when Mako comes up and frowns down at her like she's personally offended him by sitting around after practice.

"You look like something died," he says, and it's not really comforting or genuine or anything but that's just how Mako shows concern. What a sweetheart. "…did something die?"

"I fucked up," she mutters, not looking at him. "I don't know how. I don't know what I did. But I fucked up."

"Care to elaborate?"

She sighs, leans her head against the painted side of the trailer, tries not to feel like the roiling worry in the pit of her stomach is going to emerge in the form of pointless tears or word vomit or _real_ vomit. "Asami's mad at me. Or doesn't want to talk to me. Or, I don't know, hates me?"

Mako might not be the most touchy-feely guy, but he's at least a dependable friend. He puts his mellophone and his water jug down on the grass, sits down on the latter. "What happened?"

She doesn't realize she's needed to vent to someone until the words come spilling out. There's really not much to tell, but she hasn't even been dating Asami for a week and already something's gone wrong so she's not in a wonderful state at the moment.

When she's done, Mako's just sitting there frowning thoughtfully.

"Well?"

His thoughtful frown devolves quickly into a scowl. "That doesn't sound like Asami."

"No shit, Sherlock. I mean, all of this happened _today._ It's not like we've had any fights or problems or whatever and— _god_ I sound like a fucking Lifetime movie, don't I?"

"A little, yeah," Mako agrees, which doesn't exactly _help_. "Give her a call?"

Mako is not the Advice Guy. Tenzin is the Advice Guy, and god knows she's not going to her band director with relationship issues.

"Sure, Mako," she sighs. "I'll give her a call."

 

* * *

 

Yeah, Mako's advice is lame, but Korra ends up calling as soon as she gets home.

She's still grungy and sticky from rehearsal, but she's been practically buzzing with worry the entire way home. Mako and Bolin usually walk home, and their house isn't on the way to her own, so without a ride she'd had to do the same, and the twenty minutes between the school and her front door had seemed more like twenty years.

Of course, she realizes once she's in the house, she could have called _during_ the walk, but she's not really thinking at full capacity.

The phone rings once, twice, then goes to voicemail. Asami's voicemail is the default _"This is the voicemail box of insert number here."_ It sucks because she isn't even afforded the luxury of listening to her girlfriend's voice for two and a half seconds.

"Hey Asami, it's uh, well, it's me," _Wow._ "I just—I want to know that you're okay and um…" _Terrific._ "Call me back, if you want. Um… yeah, bye."

She presses her back against the wall, lets herself slide down on it so she's sitting on the floor. "Stunning performance, dipshit," she grumbles to herself.

She's sitting on the floor, back pressed against the wall when there's a knock on the door. "Dinner's done, Korra," it's her mother. "I made your favorite!"

As tempting as her mother's famous noodles sound, she'd much rather wallow in misery and never leave her room again. "I'm not hungry, mom."

She should have locked the door, because the next second it's open, and her mother is coming right at her with that _Concerned Mother_ look. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Why—" Her frown deepens as she takes in Korra's state. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"

"No reason."

Now she's got her hands on her hips. Which roughly translates to _"You can't lie to me, Korra. I carried you around for nine months."_  

Korra sighs under her mother's glare. "It's… 's not something I really want to talk about, mom. I'm just going to take a shower and get some sleep."

Before her mother can respond, Korra's pushed herself off of the floor, and is making her way to the bathroom. If she knows her mother at all, the news is going to get to her father, and they're both going to sit her down at some point and ask her about her feelings and tell her how much they love her. All things she's infinitely grateful for, but also things she doesn't really want at the moment. What she wants is not answering the phone.

She gets to do a lot more thinking in the shower, and a lot more worrying when she gets out, slumped against the wall beside her bed and checking her phone every few seconds.

Surprisingly, her parents have left her alone for the better half of the night, so she's free to wallow past dinner and dessert and family TV time, and the only reason she knows that she's skipped it all is because her phone buzzes on the floor where she'd thrown it at exactly nine on the dot.

Korra is not coordinated when she's excited, so when she launches herself off of the bed, making a frantic grab for the phone, she also manages to land right on her face. The searing nose pain doesn't deter her, though, and she picks up the device with bated breath… and it's Bolin.

"For fuck's sake," she grumbles, rubbing her throbbing nose. She's not mad at Bolin, the guy can't help it if he doesn't have long, silky black hair, and eyes like pools of jade—fuck, stop it.

Bolin (9:00PM): _LOOKLOOKLOOK WAT I FOUND_

Underneath, he's sent a picture of a flyer. There's a woman with a bass drum, clad in blue, and beneath her image, there are several dates and locations. All of which are close.

Bolin (9:00PM): _OPALS MOM IS A DEFINITE YES TOOOOO_

Bolin (9:01PM): _i cant get asami tho, is she w/ u??? ;D_

Knowing Bolin, he's probably called her four or five times. 

She doesn't really want to respond. Instead, she turns her phone off and flops back up on to the bed, wondering just how she'd managed to destroy not only her friendship, but her _relationship_ with Asami.

She wants to be thinking about camp dates. She wants to be excited about what Bolin's sent her, but the massive pit in her stomach, the same one that holds all of her insecurities and her doubts, is keeping her silent. 

Sleep doesn't find her, and this time, she'll be exhausted at school for no fucking good reason.

 

* * *

 

Everything sucks.

Korra doesn't have to _think_ this, because she _knows_ that the universe is out to get her, that anything she's ever had go right has gone south so fast she has like, multiple kinds of whiplash, and now, here she is, icing the shit cake that is her life. Maybe not even icing, maybe stray roots in the sidewalk are more like the cherry on top because now her knee is bleeding profusely, and it's red, like a cherry. 

She's delirious. She's sleep-deprived and she's gone absolutely batshit. She actually starts laughing when she gets up and limps the last mile back to her house. 

By the time she's slammed the front door shut, the blood that'd been trickling down her leg is crusty and she feels disgusting and there has to be some sort of god out there making sure that her entire existence is spiraling down the drain _properly._

Okay, maybe she's being dramatic. But only a little.

She flops down on the couch to reflect on what has to be the most outrageous week she's ever gone through.

Monday: She'd finally worked up the balls to kiss her best friend-immediately-turned-girlfriend.

Tuesday: No practice, but _Asami._

Wednesday: All their friends had found out.

Thursday: She'd fucked something up.

Friday: Welcome to Hell, forecast: shit. All day, every day.

It's _Friday._ There's no football game to play at, and miraculously Tenzin's called off rehearsal due to "mystery weather," (the sun is out, he's probably just feeling _Friday_ ) and there's no competition the next day. She should be out on the town with her friends, she should be acting like a complete idiot and hanging out with her girlfriend, but her girlfriend _won't talk to her_.

She couldn't even manage to find Asami in the parking lot after school. She's called, she's texted, she's asked everyone she knows to give her any kind of information on where the other girl is, or what she's doing, but no one seems to know. She's so, _so_ worried, not only as a girlfriend, but as a decent human being, and she has half a mind to go over to Asami's house, but she doesn't have a ride, and Asami lives on the other side of town.

 _It would be worth it_. She thinks, and then, like the stupid shit she is, stays right where she is.

Her parents aren't home, so her moping goes uninterrupted until there's a loud knock on the front door, followed by: "Burt Macklin, FBI! Come out with your hands up and also some of those kale cookies your mom makes!"

"Go _away!_ " she yells from her position on the couch. She's not in any mood to entertain Bolin's shit, not when she wants to sink into the couch and never emerge. 

Apparently, she's losing her mind as well, because she'd forgotten to lock the fucking door. Bolin comes barreling in, followed by a much less enthused Mako, tapping away on his phone.

"You look a little dead, Korra."

"I am dead. Go away."

"No dice, señorita!" Bolin plops down on the couch beside her, patting her leg for a moment before realizing that there's a massive wound on her knee. "Oh god. Are you actually dying? Can you die from a leg wound? Mako? Mako, look up if you can die from a leg wound."

Korra groans, trying and failing to kick Bolin's dense ass off of the couch. "You can't die from skinned knee, asshole. Leave me alone." 

"We're not going anywhere, Korra," says Mako, speaking, which is like _crazy_ , because Mako is bad with the words and the feelings and Korra really does not want to deal with more Mako Advice. "We're worried about Asami, too. No one saw her at school today." 

" _Mako!_ " Bolin hisses. "We were going to _ease in_ to that topic, now you're just ruining everything!"

"Bro, Korra knows why we're here. Korra, we're all Asami's friends, and we're all _your_ friends and we're going to help."

" _How?_ "

"By backing you up, of course! Moral support, you know?" Bolin chimes in, patting the leg that isn't bloody. "Also, can I get you some… gauze? Or… something?"

Korra pushes herself upright, staring between the brothers. "Backing me up? Really? That's what you've got?"

"Look, Korra, we're here for you. We're worried about Asami, but we're here for you too. Also, Bolin went to the Redbox down the street and picked up _Pacific Rim_ and you said you'd cut… something off of him if he watched it without you."

" _Kaijus,_ Korra! Think about all the _kaijuuus_."

She's grateful. She's ridiculously grateful for the guys. It doesn't quell any of the worry that's bubbling up in her chest, doesn't dispel any fears, but she can't bring herself to go to Asami's. She can't shake the feeling that she's done something wrong, and if she knows the other girl; she'll need her space. Korra just has to be patient and respect that.

"Fine," she sighs. "Get me some peroxide and put the movie in. I need to see some shit blow up."

 

* * *

 

The movie is incredible—that's not the issue.

Mako and Bolin leave afterwards—that's not the issue either.

The _issue_ , is that almost three hours later, she _still_ has not heard one peep from Asami, and her parents are home, and they're going to start pressing her for information she still doesn't want to divulge.

"Korra, why are all of my cookies gone?" She hears from the kitchen, her father sounding both mildly amused and mildly annoyed. "There were a whole bunch in here and _miraculously_ , they've disappeared."

She sits up, pushes herself off of the couch, and makes her way to the kitchen where her parents are unpacking groceries, and her father takes the opportunity to glare at her when she walks in.

"Bolin and Mako came by."

"Ahh," her mother hums knowingly.

Her father sighs through his nose. "Those boys always seem to eat everything I try to save. _Asami_ , however, helps us cook."

Korra swallows, hard. She doesn't want this, doesn't want to discuss this with her parents. " _And_ she does the dishes," her mother adds, and it only serves to add to the pit in Korra's stomach. "Did she come by with the boys today, Korra? I told her I'd give her a copy of my recipe for my noodles."

"No," she grits out, and it's a mistake because suddenly, both of them are looking at her.

"Something's up," her father says, stepping over the empty plastic bags to wrap an arm around Korra. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

Her mother frowns. "You weren't feeling well yesterday, either," She places a hand on Korra's forehead. "Do you think you're coming down with something?"

 _Fuck,_ she doesn't _need_ this. She's on the verge of tears when she shrugs her parents off, trudging out of the kitchen. When she gets to her room, she already feels guilty for leaving them. She closes the door, slumping down against the wall in much the same position as the day before. She's just so _frustrated._ Frustrated with not knowing, with the lack of communication, with _everything_. Maybe—maybe they shouldn't have gotten together. Maybe her and Asami had been better off as friends.

The thought alone sends hot, angry tears flowing from her eyes. Her parents, Mako and Bolin… they're all trying to help and she's too caught up in this shit to even thank them. It hurts to know that Asami doesn't want to talk to her, that she can't manage a _week_ in a relationship before fucking everything up to the point that her best friend won't even speak to her. Her chest constricts, she clutches angrily at her hair, just wanting _something,_ some sign of _life_ from the other girl. Is it too much to ask?

There's a soft knock on the door.

"Sweetheart?" It's her father. "You know your mother and I love you. We just—we're just trying to help, and if you need us, we'll be in the living room, alright?"

"We love you so much, Korra," her mother pipes up, her voice also muffled through the door.

It sends out another wave of guilty tears, and Korra chokes out a weak "I love you too!" before reverting to sobs again.

Her parents don't press, and she knows that they're around for her, but she just needs this time alone.

It takes what could be an hour, or maybe a few minutes, she's not sure, but the tears subside and then she's just left, raw and exhausted and ready to apologize for shutting herself off. She's doing her parents no favors by locking herself in her room. Not doing _herself_ any favors either.

She pushes herself from the floor, wincing as the blood finds its way back into her legs, and the scrape on her knee adjusts.

For a moment, she thinks it just the severe charlie horse in her thighs that's causing the sensation, but then she looks down to see her pocket lighting up. She pulls her phone free, checking the screen—

"Fuck," she breathes.

_Asami._

She answers the phone, shakily, unsure of whether or not she should sound… angry? Dejected? … _really_ angry? 

"Hello?"

 _"Korra. Korra—I—I just need—"_ There's a choked sob from Asami's end, and suddenly, all of the anger is gone, replaced by worry in droves.

"Asami? Are you okay? What's going on? _What's wrong?_ "

 _"I'm s-so sorry, Korra, please—"_ Another sob, heart-wrenching and hollow. _"I need—I need to see you."_

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," she says, her heart pounding franticly against her chest. "But, Asami, you sound like you're being chased or something? What the fuck is going _on_?"

_"I can't—I—"_

The line goes dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :/


	4. Ratamacue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my _gooood_ it's 7k and I'm not super pleased with it but if I didn't post it now, it just wasn't happening.
> 
> That being said, enjoy!

Korra hates _sitting_.

Scratch that. Sitting _still_.

Especially when she's been sitting on the stoop for the longest, most dreadful ten minutes of her entire life. To make things worse, and to remind her of the conversation she'd had with Mako a couple days before, it's raining, and the whole thing makes her think that her life has devolved into one of the soap operas on Lifetime. Her mom watches them—she sits in the living room crying with tissues and chocolates and as Korra recalls the sight, she can't help but feel like her entire life is going to become so clichéd that she'll have to implode on herself to save face.

Or, she might implode on herself if she has to spend one more fucking minute sitting on the stoop.

After a beat, some higher power must hear her thoughts, must know that she's about to start ripping chunks of hair out, because a car pulls into the driveway, and Korra has to physically restrain herself from flying at it like a bat out of hell the moment the lights go off.  

When a figure rounds the front, she hops to her feet and she can't see much of anything through the rain and the night, but it's Asami—shivering and already drenched and Korra grabs her arm, pulls her into the house with no regard for the mud she's tracked in, (she'll hear about it later) and just stares.

She wants to say something, she wants to be supportive because Asami looks like she's trudged right through hell. 

Her eyes are red and puffy, and it looks like she'd tried wiping her make up off in the rain, so it's washed off in different places around her face—there's a smudge of eyeliner from the corner of her eye to her temple, her usually red lips are pale, all the lipstick either washed off or on her cheeks, and her eyeshadow is wet and she kind of looks like a raccoon. 

Korra wants to punch herself in the face. Asami's standing right in front of her, cold and wet and Korra is comparing her to a fucking _rodent._

"I—" she begins, and her voice breaks, and so does Korra's heart, but she still can't bring herself to say anything. "I'm so _sorry_ , Korra. You called, you texted, and I—"

Her heart is splintering, she can't help what she does. She surges at Asami, pulling her into a fierce hug, and the rain from Asami's clothes immediately drenches Korra's shirt but she couldn't give two shits. Asami needs this, she _knows_ that she needs this, because above all else, this girl is her best friend.

Asami buries her face into Korra's neck, clinging desperately to her, and Korra feels every single one of the sobs that wrack her body. She mutters broken "I'm sorry"s into her skin, and Korra just sways them, holding her tight.

"I'm going to keep hugging you, but after you get some dry clothes on, okay?" Korra murmurs. "Then we can talk."

They're sitting on the bed then, Asami huddled up in a sweater, Korra's letterman, and a pair of pajama pants that end well above her ankles. She's wiped her face clean and pulled her hair into a messy bun, and even though a litany of emotions still swirl around in Korra's chest, she can't force any anger, can't think of any other way to describe Asami than breathtaking.

"You okay?" It's a stupid, _stupid_ question, but Korra just wants some kind of answer to what's been going on in the interim between like, Wednesday and Thursday.

Asami meets Korra's eyes with a weak smile. It makes her eyes look sadder, more tired. "No," _Duh, stupid._ "But you deserve to know why."

Korra nods dumbly, unsure of what else to do. 

Asami settles herself against the headboard, drawing out a long sigh that Korra can feel right to her bones. "I asked my dad about camps the other day."

Although she doesn't know exactly where it's going, Korra doesn't like the tone of Asami's voice. Questions and concerns bubble up in her throat, but she gives Asami the space to speak.

"He stood there and he shook his head and he looked at me like I was some kind of—of _disgrace,_ " she says softly, like if she speaks any louder she'll fall to pieces. "He told me that he'd been _worried_ about the choices I'd been making," her voice gets louder then, but it's shaky and Korra just wants to pull her back together again because she can feel Asami fraying at the edges. "To—and I quote— _protect_ me, he told me that he'd _bugged my phone_. Months ago. He told me he'd seen all the texts I'd sent you, that I was being _ridiculous._ "

 _Bugged her phone?_ For what fucking reason?

"I got paranoid. After that, I think I thought he'd come looking for me, or…" she sighs shakily, "I don't know. I just—I don't _know_."

Korra knows she's frowning, scowling even. She watches Asami carefully, shoving her own words down. It all explains why she'd been so anxious after practice a couple days prior, but it doesn't seem like enough of a reason for Asami to be sitting on her bed now, as Korra watches the dam she's trying to keep around her emotions crack and fracture. There's something else behind her eyes, weary and worn-out, nothing like they usually are. 

She wants to beat the living shit out of Asami's father. Instantly, her mind cycles through all kinds of scenarios that involve the fucker lying on the ground like the scum he is. She's never liked the man, and she's known how irrational he can be, but this? This is so insane Korra can only think to worry for Asami's safety in her own _home_.

Korra grabs Asami's hands, and feels them shake with barely suppressed emotion.

"We didn't talk at all after that," she continues. "…until tonight. He was just so _angry_." Korra squeezes her hands as she musters up the next words. "You know what he said to me? He said that mom would be _disappointed_." Asami's crying now, biting out her words through gritted teeth. "He said she'd _hate_ what I do in guard, that she'd want me to do better for myself _,_ that I could have a _life_ if I gave it up. All the stuff about you before that, he tried to make it seem like _that_ was the only reason he was angry, but—fuck, _why_?"

Korra is tragically horrible at keeping a level head, and using sympathy rather than empathy, but Asami doesn't need Korra's emotions right now. She needs a rock, she needs an anchor. Korra knows the feeling. She also knows that she doesn't have any answers for Asami. All she can do is offer the poor comfort of her presence. 

"Your mom danced, didn't she?" she asks, and is surprised to hear her voice come out so soft in stark contrast to the anger welling up in her chest. She doesn't want to interrupt, but she recalls the times Asami had mentioned her mother's talents. How she'd dance in the kitchen while Asami helped with dinner, how she preformed in ballets before Asami was around.

Asami nods, and Korra can see it in her eyes as she tries to collect herself. Korra takes the break in conversation to brush the tears away and tuck a strand of damp hair around Asami's ear.

"All the time," she says, and then huffs out a derisive laugh. "I never told you, did I?" Korra shakes her head, unsure, and Asami continues, "She was in guard. She worked as an instructor, before I was born. That's how she got into dancing."

Suddenly, it hits her. 

Korra only knows the _idea_ of Yasuko Sato, only knows the way Asami eyes light up when she begins to talk about her mother, and the way her smile fades when she finishes. She knows that for the first six years of Asami's life, she'd had two loving, attentive parents, much like her own, who'd given Asami everything she could have ever wanted. But that was then.

Yasuko's ghost haunts Hiroshi. He sees his wife in his daughter's eyes, sees her actions in the things Asami loves. Asami is too loving, too caring, too much like her mother for her father to forget.

"After she died…" Asami clears her throat, but Korra knows that even after all these years, talking about her mother is still one of the hardest things Asami has to do. "He hid all of her pictures. Everything. He didn't want to think about her. But when I was younger, I found one—she had on these ugly, bright yellow parachute pants," she laughs a little, but it's sad and hollow, "and she had a flag. She looked so beautiful and _so_ happy, I just… I wanted to do the same thing. I wanted to be that happy. For her." 

They sit in silence for a beat. Asami looks drained, like all of the energy she has, she's _ever_ had, has been sucked up like a vacuum. Korra can't stand it, she moves to speak, but Asami beats her to it.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry I didn't tell you, Korra," she says, her voice gravely. "I could have come over, I could have talked to you. I didn't. That's… that's not _right_."

" _No,_ " Korra says firmly, cupping Asami's face in her hands. "There's no reason for you to apologize, Asami. All I wanted to know was that you were okay. I wanted to be there for you. But you needed to do it on your own then, and now I'm here. For as long as you need me."

She moves her hands up to grab Korra's wrists, shaking her head. "It wasn't fair to you, Korra. We _just_ started dating. You must have thought—" 

"That you were having second thoughts? Yeah, I did. But now you're here and you can tell me in person. Are you?"

Asami shakes her head decisively, and turns to press a kiss to Korra's palm. "Not one."

"Then guess what? I'm still your girlfriend, you're still mine, and you're staying here for as long as you need."

The watery smile Korra gets before Asami leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth is more than worth the days of uncertainty.

 

* * *

 

They decide on TV, and when they make their way out of Korra's room, her parents are in the living room and it takes less than a second for her mother to see Asami's puffy eyes and wrap her in a patented Mom Hug.

Korra's parents had decided long ago that they'd be pseudo-adopting Asami. 

She's helped Korra's father on their sorry excuse for a car more times than she can remember, and Asami's work is probably the only reason the damn thing works anymore. She loves cooking with both of them, and on several occasions, Korra's found Asami having tea with her mother on the back porch, laughing about her, most likely, which is not cool, because she's usually a few feet away.

"What do you need, sweetheart? Some tea? Hot chocolate? We have the kind with the little marshmallows." 

She sees Asami's eyes widen. She _loves_ the little marshmallows.

But, ever polite, she just says, "Hot chocolate sounds amazing. Thank you."

Korra's dad gives her a hug and a grin as well, before sidling off into the kitchen with her mother, and Korra and Asami steal their spots on the couch. Asami snuggles into her side, and she turns the TV on before wrapping her arms around her and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"You were about to go marshmallow crazy, I saw it in your eyes."

Asami huffs. "I've never gone marshmallow _crazy_."

"Oh really? Then where did Bolin's scar come from, hm? Because if I remember correctly, we had s'mores, he tried to take the last marshmallow from the bag and you—"

"Gently encouraged him to give it to me, yes."

"Stabbed him in the thigh with a pointed stick."

"You're supposed to be on _my_ side," she groans, but presses herself closer to Korra. "He had it coming."

"I _am_ on your side. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen in my entire fucking life."

Asami looks up at her with a smile. Yeah, her eyes are still puffy and a little bloodshot, and Korra just _knows_ that she hasn't slept in a few days, but she's just so relieved that she's around. 

Maybe she's not _okay_ because okay is going to take some time, but she's here, and after she's finished her hot chocolate and her marshmallows, she lies right on top of Korra, and presses her face into her neck and mumbles a sleepy "thank you" and for now, this is all she needs.

Later, she feels Asami's breath even out against her collarbone, and she's about to drift off herself when her father appears around the side of the living room, and freezes like he's surprised they're still there.

He nods with this " _yeah, okay, alright_ " kind of face and points at Asami, and then at Korra, and gives her the "OK" hand sign and a wink like an _asshole_ and Korra gives him a hand sign of her own, only with less fingers. 

 

* * *

 

Korra's in the kitchen the next morning, earbuds in, listening to Phantom '08 for the millionth time, which is a show she thinks about often and loudly in relation to their _own_ drum major. She's making pancakes for the family like she does on most weekends, and tapping the counter softly to the drum break she knows by heart.

"I. Am. Spartacus." she breathes like a doofus, piling the first batch of pancakes on to an empty plate. 

Suddenly, there's a spatula in her side, and, startled, she turns around to see Asami—bedheaded and wearing one of her old band sweaters and lip-biting like she's trying not to laugh.

"Where's the baton?" 

Korra huffs and pops her earbuds out, now thoroughly embarrassed. "Well, I wouldn't _have_ it. You stabbed me with the spatula which means _you're_ Spartacus."

Asami's face morphs into a poor excuse for a frown and she waves the spatula around like she's conducting, bouncing on her heels.

"Oh my god, _stop,_ " Korra groans, but Asami doesn't. "You're not even—what time signature is that?" 

She's not listening, still pretending to conduct and mouthing "I am Spartacus" over and over again and Korra either wants to bury herself in a hole or kiss the dork. Maybe it's the early morning fog, or maybe Asami's hiding how she's really feeling, but either way, she's just happy that Asami's happy right now.

Unfortunately, she doesn't get to do either because her parents walk in, and she has to finish making the pancakes instead of watching Asami conduct terribly with a spatula. Her dad kisses the top of her head, and her mom takes a cheek and they do the same to Asami, and although it's happened before, Korra loves the look on Asami's face when her parents dote on her.

When they've situated themselves at the table with a mountain of pancakes, Korra's mom _has_ to be the first one to say something.

"So how long has this been going on?" 

She doesn't have to elaborate. Asami goes beet red, and Korra turns on her _traitorous_ father. 

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything!" he protests, looking between the three women. "What? Senna, tell her I didn't!"

Her mother just chuckles and shakes her head. "You've said everything now, sweetheart." 

Asami starts laughing.

"You—you are the _worst_. You're the worst!"

"You're not very subtle, dear. You get it from your father."

He nods, mouth full of pancake. "She's not wrong."

Asami's still red, but she's also still laughing, which is a great sign, and she knows how much her parents love Asami, and Korra will never hear the end of this.

 

* * *

 

Asami stays at the house through the week.

Korra's mother sets up an air mattress in her room, demands that Korra sleep on it so Asami can have the bed, and in most circumstances, Korra would protest, but every night after her parents go to sleep, she hops right up on her bed next to Asami. Her parents really _have_ to know, but Korra's also certain that they don't care.

They get to drive to school together, get to go home together, and even though Asami doesn't speak much about the incident with her father, Korra knows she's thinking about it. She doesn't press, just tries her best to be supportive, or maybe distracting, or maybe both, but Asami smiles and laughs so she's glad for that.

The week passes in a whirlwind, with the most important competition of the season looming only a few days ahead. They have practice after school every single day, they rehearse in class, and they all get to skip their last classes on Friday and spend the hour on the field, running set after set.

By their final hour of rehearsal on Friday, Korra's not even sure if it's all actually happened. 

She's sitting on the grass, arms wrapped around Asami, who's fiddling with the blue tape on her fingers that cover a whole mess of blisters and calluses, and they're watching the sunset with Mako, Opal and Bolin on their long water break before probably a million full runs of their show.

" _Again_ , Mako?" 

Mako looks up from his horn with a long-suffering sigh. "Just because _you guys_ don't understand horn upkeep doesn't mean—"

"Blah, blah, blah," Bolin interrupts, his head resting on Opal's lap. "I don't polish my tuba every five seconds and it works just fine!"

"You've never even _cleaned_ it!" 

"Bro, do you _really_ want me to put Pabu in our tiny-ass bathtub?" 

Opal frowns. "You named your tuba Pabu?"

"Cool name, right?" Bolin says, grinning. "He needed one. At first I thought, maybe it'd be cool for him to be mysterious, you know? But _then_ I thought, what if I become a famous tubist and my tuba doesn't have a name? That doesn't even make _sense_ , so I named him!"

"You'll name the damn thing," Mako begins, finally putting his polishing cloth back in his case. "but you won't clean it."

" _Him_ , Mako, don't be rude," Bolin corrects, "and I will clean Pabu when you buy a bigger bathtub!"

Korra watches them with a smile, resting her chin on Asami's shoulder.

"This is why wind instruments suck," she says quietly, only to Asami, so the boys don't start whining about brass-this and brass-that and a bunch of stupid facts about mouthpieces that Korra really couldn't care less about.

Asami giggles. "Tell me about it. Although, I wouldn't mind a day without a new blister." 

"Blisters are _cool_. I don't know _how_ I'd date a girl without a few."

"Oh, _that's_ why we're dating. Right, right—I'd almost forgotten about the blisters while you were being a decent human being. Thanks for reminding me, sweetie." 

Korra snorts. "Anything for you, _dear,_ " She plants a kiss on Asami's cheek, and can feel the other girl's mouth tug into a smile as she squeezes Korra's taped fingers.

They get another few minutes to chat and sit around before Kuvira's calling the band back on to the field, already standing at the podium like some kind of scary fucking gargoyle statue. 

Asami stands first, offering Korra a hand and pulling her up off the grass.

"Ready to run the show until our lungs explode?" she asks, grinning and not letting go of the hand she'd pulled Korra up by.

"Always," Korra replies, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips.

"Let's do it."

 

* * *

 

_"Now entering the field, the Avatar Senior High School Marching Band!"_

Her mind zeroes in. Only the sharp crack of her stick on the drumhead and the perfectly timed movement of her legs matter as she counts the band on to the grass. 

 _"Aaand we have some Happy Grams!"_  

Oh, right. Shit.

Keeping focused is so _crucial_ during competitions,but when Tenzin had let them roam around the host school earlier in the day, she'd seen the handmade sign, and well… it was only a quarter.

_"I would run two-to-fives with my tuba across a million yard lines, and it still wouldn't fully convey my love for you. P.S. I love you, please don't hit me with the swing flag for this. Please?"_

Korra has to scrunch her face together to avoid making a noise. Even though she'd been the one to encourage Bolin to write his own Happy Gram, she hadn't seen what he'd written before he'd turned it in. There could have been more preparation on her part, for sure.

The announcer reads two more, and Korra's starting to worry that hers won't be read, because the vast majority of the band is standing still, waiting for the pit to connect their last few cables. Then, while she's contemplating complaining to the host school's band director and their incompetent announcer—

_"Oh, one more: To the guard captain with the hottest legs—you're the most amazing human in all of ever. Thanks for being the best. Love, the most incredible center snare in the known universe."_

Well, it had sounded cute when she'd written it.

She can't see Asami from her first set, but she can only hope that her girlfriend is smiling as they wait for their signal.

_"Drum major, is your band ready?"_

If Kuvira looks terrifying during practice, her in Competition Mode is like watching a a shark circle its prey. She's always so ready, and even though Korra hates ( _hates_ ) to admit it—she's really fucking good.

Kuvira turns sharply on her heel, moving through the motions of her elaborate salute, which, as always, earns a cheer from the crowd. She doesn't show any emotion, though, turning back to the band and slowly taking her shako off of her head.

She raises her hands.

 _"Avatar Senior High School, you may take the field in finals performance."_  

 

* * *

 

 

They knock it out of the fucking park.

Korra's never felt more alive than in the final moments of their show, hitting the drumhead as hard as she can, perfectly in time, her whole drumline in a perfect row behind the winds' company front. She's been telling the basses, the tenors, all of her stupid, _amazing_ section to line up their heels and finally, _finally_ , they're doing it.

She wants to cry. She's breathing hard, head angled to the box, reveling in the cheers and applause and just the overwhelming feeling of being a part of something so much bigger than herself. She feels so insignificant sometimes, when she looks around and sees all of the other band members, marching and playing and spinning and it's only when the _rightness_ of a performance washes over her does she know that she's more than that. In the grander scheme of things, they're all cogs in the machine (not the _Green_ Machine, though) and they're all so vitally important when it comes down to putting a show on the field.  

 _Four years, huh?_ Asami's voice reverberates in her head.

She's dragging a corner of their prop tarp with one hand, hauling serious ass off the field so they don't get a penalty when the tears come. 

Happy tears. Tears that make her think that every single second she'd been a part of this organization had been worth it. 

And if she couldn't get any happier in that moment, catching her breath beside the percussion trailer as the rest of the band whoops and yells like a bunch of idiots, she gets tackled from behind, legs clamping down hard around her sides and arms tight around her shoulders.

There's laughter in her ear, and see can't see her attacker, but she knows that laugh anywhere.

"Good show, yeah?"

The laugh comes again. "Easily the best ever," Asami says, and Korra feels a pair of lips on her cheek. "Probably all thanks to Miss "most incredible center snare in the known universe"—whoever the hell _that_ is."

Korra laughs as Asami clambers off her back so they can turn to each other. Asami's flushed and sweaty, the bright blue eyeshadow the whole guard is sporting is smudged around her eyes and her hair's falling out of the fishtail braid she'd put it in, and maybe someone else would have reservations about kissing a guard girl after a performance, but not Korra.

She takes one of Asami's hands, pulling her behind the trailer where no one can see them because she's never _personally_ been berated by Tenzin for PDA, but she really doesn't want to start now.

When she kisses Asami, she smiles against her lips, tugging her closer, and really, they shouldn't be doing this like ten feet away from where the band is packing up, but Korra is still buzzing from their show, and she feels like she could audition for every single corps and get in, and with the way Asami's kissing her—she's sure she feels the same.

One of Asami's hands finds its way up to Korra's jaw, and she's already lightheaded from the exertion of marching, but now she just feels like she's going to float right off of the ground.

They part, a little out of breath, and really, Korra would be fine with skipping the whole "help the band pack" thing and just staying back here and making out. But she's _kind of_ the percussion captain and Asami is _kind of_ the guard captain and it's _kind of_ their job to help, but they're both seniors and this is one of their last performances and they should really get a free pass for tonight.

"I—" her voice comes out rough and husky, she clears her throat. "I'm glad you liked the Happy Gram." 

It's dark behind the trailer, but she can see Asami's eyes sparkle with laughter. "All that for the Happy Gram?"

"It's officially the best twenty-five cents I've ever spent."

Something shifts in Asami's eyes. "I'm only worth twenty-five cents to you, huh?"

"What—no!" Korra backpedals, but Asami's smiling, so she's safe. "You're worth twenty-five _kajillion_ cents!"

"Not sure if you've heard, but "kajillion" isn't exactly a number." 

"No, it's not. Because you're _priceless_."

She breaks, head falling onto Korra's shoulder as she shakes with laughter. "Oh my _god_ , Korra."

"Fuck. I should've put _that_ in the Happy Gram."

 

* * *

 

If there's anything Korra hates more than sitting still, it's finals retreat.  

Also, she doesn't like radishes and she'll only eat eggs if they're scrambled (Asami knows how to make them _perfectly_ , probably because she's _perfect_ ) and as good as Kuvira is at being their drum major, Korra's not a fan of the other girl—but standing with her hands behind her back, shifting her weight from foot to aching foot while the announcer drawls out the names of nine other bands and all of their scores—this she despises above all else. Hell, she'd rather Kuvira serve her radishes and like, a hardboiled egg before having to suffer through the first two-thirds of retreat.

Yeah, it's night now and the stadium lights are on and it's cooled significantly since their prelims performance, but she's still wearing thirty pounds over her shoulders and however cool she thinks (knows) her uniform looks, polyester-gaberdine is not fashionable, not breathable, and not comfortable.

Mostly, she has a love/hate relationship with the fact that they're usually in the top four or five, so they have to stand for like an _hour_ while the first bands' scores are announced, _plus_ caption awards, _and_ some ridiculous amount of "spirit" awards, and at minute thirty and band _two_ , Korra is about ready to lie down and die.

Also, Asami is on the other side of the core officers, lined up in front of the band, and she can't turn to look because Tenzin will have her head if she so much as breathes wrong while they're passing out awards.

While the announcer is taking his sweet time, Korra takes a moment to zone out. 

She knows they probably look awesome, standing still and intimidating like this. 

Kuvira's in front and center of the core, and Korra can't see, but she's probably wearing her "I Eat Children" face, the brim of her shako drawn over her eyes. Behind her is Mako, who's probably scowling, but on his right and beside Korra is Bolin, who she can see nodding off out of the corner of her eye. Korra knows that Opal's on the other side of Mako, and Asami's next to her and even though this is the order they always stand in, Korra doesn't _really_ think anyone will mind if she scoots over to the other side.

Okay, maybe she'll get decapitated, but hey, as long as her head rolls over to Asami—she'll be fine.

It takes another half hour to get to fifth place, but now she's paying attention, because they've finally started caption awards.

First up is Music, and if she hadn't braced herself, Korra knows she would have fallen. Next thing she knows, Bolin is almost skipping out of ranks to accept the trophy and when he turns back to place it in front of the band, he's grinning so hard he's shaking.

One caption award is enough for Korra, but that doesn't change the fact that her heart picks up pace when the announcer calls out the band in fifth—which isn't them.

 _Okay,_ she thinks, _fourth. Badass._

They call the caption for Drum Major next, and Korra should really have expected it. Kuvira runs through her salute and steps out to claim her prize. Korra's not sure, but when she places the award on the grass, Kuvira might actually be smiling. It'd be a first. 

The announcer calls fourth. Not them.

 _What._ Korra's mind starts racing. _Top three, holy fuck that's—wow._

They win Visual. Mako marches up and grabs the trophy, and Korra feels her heart hammering hard against her chest. They've never won _three_ captions.

Next up is third and it's _not them_ and Korra is actually, seriously going to have a heart attack.

She barely even hears the announcer call for the Auxiliary caption, but she snaps back to it when he announces them and she's having a fit, she feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes because she knows just how badly Asami's wanted this, even if she might never admit it. Korra watches as Opal and Asami walk to the track on shaky legs, and when they turn back, Asami catches her eye, smiling from ear-to-ear with watery eyes and Korra smiles back because it's been such a long time coming, and after everything that's happened with her father—Asami deserves this.

They announce Percussion next, and suddenly the snare feels a million times heavier.

It's them. It's _them._  

Bolin has to shove her forward because she's reeling—how is this _happening?_ How— _what?_

When she takes the trophy from the girl who's passing them out, she's gaping like a fucking fish, she probably looks like a moron, but her section has, after four years, pulled it off. She's holding a testament to that fact. She sets it down in the grass next to their array of other trophies and the weight of it all hits her like a ton of bricks. She needs to know that she's not dreaming. She needs to know that they've actually won, because yes, performances are for _you_ , but when the judges think you've done well too, then… fuck, it's pretty overwhelming.

She meets Asami's eyes on the way back, and she's actually crying now, and Korra knows she is too, and she just wants to take her snare off and hug her for the rest of eternity because she feels so incredible, she doesn't know if she can contain it.

They call the final caption—General Effect. Korra bites her lip hard enough to taste blood because Kuvira is walking up and collecting the trophy and they've swept captions and Korra is bawling, and beside her, Bolin is too.

They call second place, and it's the fucking band _next to them_ , and they've done it.

Korra's not exactly sure what happens between when the loudspeaker announces that they've won and when they're asking the winning percussion to play their cadences while the rest of the bands track out, because the next thing she knows, she's tapping off the drumline as the last band files off the field.

There's whooping and screaming, and a sea of uniforms like hers hugging and dancing and playing the worst pop songs they know, and out of that sea comes Asami, smiling like the fucking sun, and Korra's not sure if she's ever been happier, she just has to share it. She struggles out of her jacket so she can pull her harness and drum off, throws her shako to the ground, and runs at Asami, picking her up and twirling her around.

"We did it," she mumbles into her girlfriend's shoulder, feeling the tears start to flow again. "We fucking did it."

Asami's arms tighten around her shoulders, and she echoes those words back to her, and for a moment, it feels like they're the only two people on the field. 

When she finally puts Asami back on the ground and takes a moment to really look at her, well, she's _glowing_. She just looks so happy, and Korra knows she's probably a mirror image, grinning hard enough to make her cheeks sore, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Asami."

The voice comes from behind Korra, and she doesn't turn for long enough to see Asami look over her shoulder. She's never seen a smile fall faster.

She spins around, still holding one of Asami's arms when she sees the man wearing their school colors standing by the sideline—Hiroshi.

There's a moment then where Korra wants to deck Asami's father, wants to punch the teeth out of his mouth, but then Asami's lacing her fingers through Korra's and squeezing hard, and Korra knows she's not leaving her spot next to her.

Asami doesn't say anything, but she also doesn't move, staring at her father as he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"I was hoping we could speak," his eyes flicker to Korra, and she does her best to adopt a Mako Scowl. She can only hope it's intimidating enough. "Privately."

Beside her, Asami shakes her head. "I'm not going to let you ruin my night."

" _Please_ , Asami. Just a minute, and I promise—"

"Don't," Asami interrupts, and Korra can feel her tense. "Don't promise me anything."

Hiroshi sighs, and his expression is so deeply wounded, that if Korra were anyone else, she might actually feels sorry for the man. But she's not. She's Asami's girlfriend and her best friend and the piece of shit in front of them has hurt his own daughter in so many ways, Korra doesn't think she'd be able to forgive him even if Asami can.

"I won't, then," Hiroshi amends, spreading his hands out before him. He's holding a flag with their school's logo on it. "All I can ask for is a minute of your time, and I'll leave you."

Really, he's not in a position to ask for _fuck all_ but Asami's the most generous person in the world, and although it's pained and hesitant, she nods for him to continue. He ventures another glance at Korra, and Asami's hand tightens around hers and it's apparent that Korra's not moving.

"I came here to show my support, Asami. I've been such a poor excuse for a parent since your mother…" he trails off. Asami swallows hard, so Korra squeezes her hand, offering her her silent reassurance. Hiroshi clears his throat. "This makes you so happy, just as it did for her, and I know I cannot change what I have said or what I've done… but I want you to know how much I love you, and how important your happiness is to me."

Korra hears Asami take a long, shaky breath, and she turns to see her jaw clench, but no tears fall.

"I'm not asking you to come home, I don't have that right," he continues. "But there is always a place for you, sweetheart. I'm just sorry that it hasn't been a good one."

Asami says nothing, and Hiroshi nods, turns to leave.

When he's gone, Asami's shoulders sag, and Korra turns to pull her into a hug. She does her best to pour all of the love and support that she has into it, and Asami wraps her arms around Korra, presses her forehead against her shoulder.

"What do you need?" Korra asks, rubbing calming circles between Asami's shoulder blades.

She shakes her head. "Just this."

Korra holds her tighter.

 

* * *

 

It's really dark, really loud, really hot, really smelly, and it sounds like someone's throwing eggs near the front, but that's just the percussion bus.

They've got four hours to scream at each other in the darkness, and Tenzin has to be on cloud nine because after they'd packed, he hadn't even been paying attention to the fact that the percussion bus had devolved into the "Whoever the Hell Wants to Hop On" bus. Not only that, but Korra can _distinctly_ see Jinora's little bun right next ( _right_ next) to a shaggy head of hair she can instantly associate with a certain trumpet player. She won't say anything, even _if_ Asami and her have officially surpassed Jinora and Kai as the band's cutest couple—snitches get stitches. Also, she loves the kids.

Speaking of the new cutest couple—"Asami?" she asks, noticing that while Asami's sitting next to her, she's also staring out of the window, completely disconnected from the festivities in the seats around them. Korra knows why, of course, but that doesn't deter her from taking Asami's hand in her own. The movement snaps the other girl out of her reverie.

"What?" she asks, bewildered for all of a second until she meets Korra's eyes. Her expression turns sheepish, which is about as cute as her bewildered face. All of her faces are cute. _She's_ cute. "Sorry."

Korra shakes her head, taking the opportunity to scoot closer so she can easily press a kiss to Asami's cheek. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Asami smiles, and it's a little sad, which Korra never likes. "Not now," she leans in, her mouth right next to Korra's ear. "I can barely hear you."

She's right. Whatever sounded like eggs smashing has stopped, but people are beating on the seats in front of them, someone (probably Bolin, who's been flitting around the bus, dancing and hugging) has started an off-key wailing rendition of "We are the Champions" and for fuck's sake, they're _band_ kids. They play _music_ , and yet when they sing it sounds like the cacophony of screams somewhere in the ninth layer of hell. 

Korra's about to respond, but something's jabbing at her side, and she really doesn't know why she'd assumed they'd get any kind of privacy at the back of the bus. Privacy isn't exactly a _thing_ in band, but it hadn't bothered her before her and Asami had started dating. Now, however… she's going to behead whoever is jabbing at her.

 _"What?_ " she growls, whipping her head around to find that Opal is the irritant, and she's poking Korra with… the lead pipe of a contra? She also looks like she's raided a dollar store of those bendable glowsticks because she has like _twenty_ around her neck, and on her wrists, and around her waist—but that's all besides the point. "What, Opal?"

"Snacks!" she demands, because she's Opal, and when she steps on the band bus she gains some kind of crunchy clairvoyance because she always seems to know when Korra brings the Doritos.

Korra just rolls her eyes and reaches into her bag, and she has to let go of Asami for a moment, which sucks, but she tosses Opal two bags of Doritos and a carton of Milk Duds so she'll leave them alone. That is, until she and Bolin scarf them all down and start demanding more, which will happen the second Bolin sits back down.

Once Opal's satisfied, Korra turns back to Asami, who's now wrapped up in Korra's letterman because obviously they've picked the seat with the broken window and the night air is chilly and whipping at their faces. She grins, and Asami smiles back softly, and she looks so adorable, Korra just has to scoot closer and kiss her.

"What was that for?" Asami yells over the din—it's "Killer Queen" now—but she's ginning from ear to ear.

Korra shrugs. "You're awesome."

"And I have the hottest legs?"

She nods enthusiastically, and Asami laughs, something Korra knows she's never grow tired of, even if she can't hear it. The way her smile spreads across her face, eyes bright, makes Korra feel giddy and young and so _so_ happy that she's not sure what to do with herself.

So, instead of really thinking about it, she just kisses Asami again.

And they won't talk about what's happened yet. No matter _what_ happens, though, she'll be there for the guard girl with the blistery fingers and the bright green eyes and the smile that makes Korra's heart flip-flop in her chest. She figures she doesn't have a choice. She's young and sunburnt and in love and she's pretty damn sure Asami feels the same. And if she'd never joined band, she probably would never have had all this.

Korra smiles at Asami when she thinks, _thank god for marching band_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might end up going back later and cleaning this whole thing up, but for now, thanks for reading! As you can probably see, there's going to be one more chapter, so if you're interested, stay tuned!
> 
> Also, if you have any questions or prompts or just want to chat, hit me up on tumblr: [bazaarwords](http://bazaarwords.tumblr.com)


	5. Fermata

" _Dut, dut, dut, dut, blue-ber-ry, blue-ber-ry, scooby—DOOOO!_ "

To the average person, the drumline looks like a bunch of monkeys managed to escape the zoo and started running around in weird formations, beating on things with sticks, and chanting.

Korra loves it.

They're at their third housing site, out in the sweltering mid-July sun, and the only issue she can seem to find with the whole situation is that there is a bug on her leg—she can fucking _feel_ it—but she can't crush it into oblivion like she wants to. They're running a big chunk of the show, there's a trumpet solo and the snares are doing some weird weaving pattern where they're in-between a contra every six counts. So, obviously, she sees Bolin, and Bolin makes a stupid noise every single time they cross paths.

This time, she thinks she hears him dut right along with her, which would be an interesting ( _productive_ , for fucking once) change of pace. It turns out, however, that it was actually the drum major yelling "cut," and she realizes this two seconds before she has to side-step to barely miss one of the basses.

She's mumbling a quick "sorry" to the girl, but she's gone before the word can pass her lips, and then she comes to another realization— _water break_.

First thing's first, though.

_Whack!_

It _was_ a bug. And now there's a big red welt on her calf and a dead _something's_ guts on her palm and why the _fuck_ do they even advertise these stupid clip-on bug repellent things when they don't even work half the time?

She gets to be irritated for the twenty seconds it takes to drop off her snare and make it to the sideline and then her friends, new and old, are in a little huddle around their waters, smiling and laughing, and she really can't be mad.

The welt starts itching, though, so it seems like a perfect time to whine.

“ _Asaaamiii_ ,” she crows, hobbling over to the huddle as dramatically as she can manage. Dragging her leg, groaning, all but collapsing her entire weight on her unsuspecting girlfriend—the whole nine yards. "I'm hurt. I'm _dying_."

"Oh, my poor baby," Asami croons sarcastically, and then grunts and staggers when Korra wraps her arms around her waist and presses against her because Korra is a lot heavier than most people expect. Asami knows, though. From experience. "My poor lead weight baby. What happened, sweetheart?"

Korra sniffs, loud and exaggerated. "Bug."

Asami tuts like a concerned mother hen, petting Korra’s hair just the way she likes, and even going so far as to press a kiss to her forehead even though Korra is one hundred percent sure that every inch of her skin is disgusting.

Opal makes a gagging noise from where she’s similarly leant against Bolin, and Korra shoots her a trademark Death Glare—one from her arsenal. She knows that they’re scary, even if Asami says they’re cute. They’re not cute. She’s terrifying.

Then there’s Mako. Mako, sitting on his ass, _polishing his horn again_ —“Mako, okay, you know we all love you,” Korra begins, looking down at the offending mellophone player who looks back up like she’s personally offended every single member of his family. “But you _have_ to stop doing this. Why—we’re just going to go back out on the field and it’s going to get dirty again and you’re going to come back here and waste more time cleaning it.”

“I’m not wasting time.”

"You are  _absolutely_ wasting time!" Korra cries, and she's going to prove this fucking point, whether Mako likes it or not. She hoists her own water jug up, taking several huge gulps before she begins the rant because she's planning on being _articulate_. "Every time we come back here, what do you—what does he do, Bolin?"

"Cleans his horn."

"Thank you. You clean your horn. And what, pray tell, is this a break for? Is this a 'Clean Your Horn Break'? What do they call this break, Opal?"

"Water break."

"A  _water break_. And instead of  _drinking water_ , Mr. Mako Shiny Balls has to go through polishing cloth number five hundred and sixty and then _complain_ when he gets dehydrated.  _Why_ is he dehydrated, Asami?"

"Not drinking water."

Korra spreads her hands out in front of Mako's scowling face like she's won something. Which she has. She's won the sweet, sweet satisfaction of seeing this particular scowl. It's the one he uses when he's wrong. They see it a lot.

Mako opens his mouth, probably to say something stupid, but the drum major is calling them back to the field, and Mako doesn't have time to drink any water, and Korra knows— _is certain—_ that he will collapse at some point during the day. It'll be funny when it happens, but the asshole is also heavier than he looks, so then it will be much less funny when she's carrying him off the field.  

When she pulls her snare back on, the lines of the harness matching up perfectly with the lines on her skin, (that's why the call it a _harness tan_ , genius) Korra sets her mind back to the music.

Joining a corps had just been a dream. A  _fever_ dream, even. But Korra gets to march and perform every single day, she gets to meet people from all over the world, learning and growing as a musician and a performer, and sometimes—just  _sometimes—_ she looks around at the rest of the corps, all determined, all with the same goal—and she gets a little misty-eyed.

Coincidentally, it's the same feeling she gets when she looks at Asami.

Korra had assumed that Asami would have gotten tired of her clinginess or her affections or her _presence_  after month two or three, but here they are, eight months in and stronger than ever.

She can see some of the guard from where they've stopped to adjust the form of Set Thirty One—Set Twenty Two's older, bigger, scarier, more complicated older brother—and there's Asami, tossing a seven with ease. They'd taken one look at her and given her a feature. A newbie with a feature? Korra is so,  _so_ proud of her girlfriend.

The drum major readies the corps again, snapping Korra out of her fawning, and she's marching again.

 

* * *

 

The mornings are evil, but the food truck makes them a little more bearable.

She's standing near the back of the line, waiting for breakfast to yank her bodily from the air mattress on the gym floor where her consciousness seems to be stuck. 

Asami's arms are wrapped around her torso, her chin resting on Korra's shoulder, and she's dozing too, although she's always been better with mornings.

Opal and Bolin are in much the same position, and it's actually a little surprising, because even though the girl is half-asleep, she's managing to keep her much heavier boyfriend upright as he drools on her shoulder.

Mako is the only sentient one of the bunch, and he's making farting noises on his mouthpiece like the nerd he is. He'll tell Korra that he's "warming up" but all brass instruments sound like amplified farts, in Korra's educated opinion.

She feels Asami place a lazy kiss against her jawline, and she hums contentedly, unable to stop the slow spread of a smile on her lips.

"What's your schedule today?" Asami mumbles, and they hobble together like penguins as the line inches forward.

"Uhh..." She thinks hard, trying to clear the early morning fog from her brain to remember what the snare tech had yelled at them the day before. "...warm up, sectionals... I think maybe we're running the percussion break for a few hours? I don't know, don't ask me to _think things_ this early."

Asami huffs a laugh. "Oh please forgive me, darling, I forgot that you draw your power from bacon and pancakes."

"I'll forgive you this time, my love," Korra says, hobbles a little further so that they'll be next in line. "But forget again and I will need many kisses of forgiveness."

She hears a hum, like Asami is seriously considering these consequences. "I guess I'm going to have to forget again tomorrow."

Lo and behold, Asami does forget again the next day, and Korra gets her forgiveness kisses. Actually, she forgets every day afterwards, and Korra doesn’t complain.

 

* * *

They move housing sites four more times before they’re ready to perform the show in its entirety.

The entire percussion has gone through their pre-show ritual, and Korra’s gone through another one with the six other snares, and she is _pumped_ —more pumped than she’s ever been about band before. People are mulling around, setting up, warming up, and the energy is electric, so naturally, she has to find Asami.

It’s not difficult, the guard have finished up their own rituals and some have gone to help with flag bags and the like, but Asami is stretching on the pavement.

Well it _looks_ like she’s stretching.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a parking lot like this?”

She can see the side of Asami’s face where she’s smiling down at something in her hands, and she doesn’t look up when she says, “Oh, you know. Buying drugs.”

Korra wraps a arm around her girlfriend’s waist, sidling up to her as best she can with a snare drum strapped to her front. “What’s that?” She motions down to the photo in Asami’s hands. And then feels like a complete idiot for not recognizing it instantly. “Oh, wow. You brought it with you?”

Finally, Asami looks up from the picture of her mother, clad in the ugly parachute pants Asami had described, all those months before. “Yeah,” she breathes, leans in to give Korra a peck on the cheek. “I never told you, did I?”

Korra tilts her head, unsure of what she hasn’t heard.

“She marched here, back in the day.”

“Oh,” she says, dumbly. So fucking dumbly. And then tries to recover, “Wow… _wow._ Yeah, you never told me.”

For a moment, Korra looks down at herself, and then around at the rest of the corps as they set up the show. Her blue shorts seem to mean a lot more now.

“I was really glad when we all decided on this,” Asami explains, tucking the photo away in a plastic bag to keep it safe. “I didn’t want to give my two cents when we were choosing. I figured we should research everything instead of picking based on… I don’t know, what _I_ wanted, I guess. But it all worked out in the end.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before? We would have definitely taken it into account.”

Asami looks thoughtful for a moment before answering, “We chose this anyway, didn’t we? It makes me feel like it was meant to be, no matter what… Like she would have wanted it this way.”

“We’re gonna make her proud, Asami,” Korra says, and the words come out without thought. “Every single one of us. She deserves that. _You_ deserve that.”

Asami’s smile is a little watery, and it’s a bit difficult to kiss comfortably with the snare in the way, but Korra does her best to pour every ounce of love she can manage into it, promising that she’ll do her best, now more than ever, for the woman in the ugly yellow parachute pants with the same smile Korra has seen for years. She’ll do her best for that woman’s legacy, too.

When everyone’s huddled around that night after the show, Korra closes her eyes, feels the energy of the group, and knows that wherever Yasuko Sato is, she’s proud of the organization her daughter has chosen, and proud of what she’s accomplished.

And months later she thinks that maybe it’s wrong to hope that there will be some divine, supernatural intervention when they step on the field for their championship performance. But they’ve certainly earned that performance, through the hard work and perseverance. Every sweltering summer day, every long night leads up to that first note, echoing through the walls of the stadium.

They earn that next performance, too—an encore exhibition for the newly crowned national champions.

Korra looks out at the crowd of screaming fans, finds Asami on the other side of the field, ready to leave every last drop of love out on that field, just like she is.

 _"Six words!_ "

And she goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh... hi again? Sorry this wasn't really long or anything...
> 
> I don't know what excuse warrants not finishing a story for two years other than laziness, but here you go, I hope everyone likes it! I'll be honest, though, ending this story even after all this time has made me feel a little blooooo
> 
> I'm so sorry.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://bazaarwords.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I want to continue with this, but I'm always kind of terrified of multi-chapter fics, because there's a _massive_ chance I'll abandon them (even though I'm writing some at the moment…)
> 
> If you've got any marching band questions, let me know! Also, if anyone gets the mentions of DCI—bravo, fellow band geek.
> 
> Also, I'm on tumblr and there's not a whole lot on it at the moment: [bazaarwords](http://bazaarwords.tumblr.com)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! :)


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